Resident Evil: BSAA
by Lady Frost1
Summary: What happened before 5? Whats the BSAA? Why is Chris wearing such a tight shirt? The answers to these burning questions, inside!
1. Chapter 1

_A few notes before we begin…._

_I don't own Resident Evil, clearly. If I did, I would be the richest bitch I know. I would be sitting in my 3 tiered kidney shaped pool filled with Jello (maybe green) sipping Mai Tais, munching on Reese's Pieces (unconcerned about the spread of my thighs as a result seeing as I'd have the best trainer in the world to help me fix it) and plotting the deaths of all the bitches who wronged me in the past. I wouldn't be writing this fic, fumbling around in life trying to pay my frickin bills and wishing, just for a moment, that I DID own it._

_On another note, there are really no OC's in this story. I realize some people hate them (Brooke and Megan) and so I will attempt to create a tale without them and without any sex o f any kind. (GASP) but maybe a little implied romance in parts. The places our friends travel are entirely fictitious. The rainforest, the town and so forth. So that way I don't step on any toes of those who are native to the areas in question._

_A fair warning, I may hint at lots of things through out the telling of this fictional sojourn. I may also completely lose the focus of the story and go off on tangents without point or purpose. _

_That being said…._

ONE: Enter the Hero…exit the other one.

**NAME: CHRIS REDFIELD**

**AGE: 35**

**HEIGHT: 6'1"**

**WEIGHT: 212 lbs.**

**OCCUPATION: Asskicker**

The dead were coming for him. He was surrounded on all fronts, dying, bleeding from both legs and a particularly nasty bite on his shoulder. He was tired and hungry, broken and beaten, and down to his last few bullets. His team had long since abandoned him, leaving him to the nebulous wasteland of nothingness, forsaking him for brighter promises and greener pastures.

Chris Redfield was about to make his last stand. His arms tightened, his fingers flexed, he mustered all of his resolve from the pit of his stomach and faced down the shambling horde as they made their wickedly fast way toward his hunched form. There was nothing between him and eternity but three bullets and a slew of curse words dragged from his ticked off mouth.

He made the count down in his head…one…two….faster they came with each moment…faster….thre---

The phone on his hip began to ring, blasting _Get outta my dreams, Get into my car _by the fabulous Billy Ocean across the room. It was so inappropriate it might have been funny.

Cursing, Chris hit the pause button _Left for Dead, _tossed the X-Box controller onto the couch next to him and grabbed up his phone. It was one of those Blackberry doohickies that Claire had bought for him on his birthday. He really didn't need it. He didn't text or IM or whatever the hell the kids were doing these days but she'd insisted he needed to "move with the times."

Her face had said quite clearly that he was "acting his age." Whatever the hell that meant when he'd asked her what was wrong with his old phone. It received calls, it sent calls, so what if he'd taped it back together eight times over the six years he'd had it? It did its job and if there was one thing you learned in the Redfield household, it was waste not, want not.

Searching for the answer button, Chris cursed again to see it was indeed his little sis calling.

Didn't she have anything better to do on Wednesday afternoon then call him? Likely she'd begin talking about whatever tattooed dude she was currently seeing. The last one, Rico, had had more piercings then a tribal shaman and less brains then a turnip.

"Yo." He stated clearly, pretty sure he'd answered the phone correctly.

"Hey dude." Claire intoned happily, " Busy?"

"Well I kinda was," he replied, shifting on the couch to toss his bare feet out in front of him, "Whatcha want?" No sense telling her he was playing X-Box. She was already convinced he was an introverted loser who seemed to refuse to go out in public and mingle with the mouth breathers. He kind of was but not for the reasons she speculated.

Both Claire and Jill had tried countless times to get him out amongst the masses since Raccoon City. But unless he was tracking leads about Wesker or mopping up massacres made by Umbrella (even capable of destruction in the last throes of its exisistence) he was much interested in social functions. He liked to use the line, "I'm too old for that shit." When invited to parties or some such nutty places with people congregated and attempted to get laid.

It wasn't that he was afraid to mingle. Nope. He just didn't care to. Life would be full of opportunities to marry and birth brats when he was finished with destroying Wesker. Until then he was content to take fat paychecks from the government to play superhero and play video games. Not that that was ALL he did. He did occasionally (six times a week) hit the home gym in his basement to work out.

In fact, since Raccoon, he'd put on sixty pounds (fifty of it muscle, ten of it beer) and made quite a name for himself as a hired gun for the good guys. Claire had made Terminator jokes at his expense quite frequently in the last ten years but she didn't realize that to fight Albert "Superfreak" Wesker, you HAD to be big.

It was kind of his obsession.

He could hear noise on Claire's end of the phone. People milling around, type writers (keyboards Chris. NO ONE uses typewriters anymore; really), the hum drum sounds of office work. "I need your help."

And she sounded serious.

Chris sat up a little straighter. "You okay?"

There was a delighted little laugh on her end. "You're sweet bro. Really. But I'm fine. The problem is that Sherry isn't."

Chris wracked his nugget for a minute trying to remember Sherry. Skinny little blonde kid? The one Claire had brought around to Thanksgiving and Christmas after Raccoon City a decade earlier. After Sherry had gone to live with her Aunt in Idaho, he hadn't seen much of the kid.

"What's she gotta be now….twenty?"

"Twenty one." Claire said quietly. "Chris…something's happened. Somebody found out about her. They know she's Birkin's daughter…she was at Juliard, at school. But no one's seen her in over two weeks."

He was getting his boots on as she spoke, lacing them and already plotting what he'd need in his head.

"Any clues?"

This is where Claire fell unusually quiet. Chris had to prod her to answer.

"Claire? What is it?"

"That's the weird part. The really weird part. There was a note. On her desk at school. A love letter, or so her room mate thought. She thought nothing of it. It said for Sherry to come and meet him for a midnight rendezvous… "

She wasn't finished. She was stalling. Why?

"Spit it out Claire. What else?"

"The note…it was signed Albie."

And there you had it. THIS was why he was being called. Albie. Albert Wesker. Fucker. Freak.

"Son of a bitch." That too. Chris stood, grasping his keys off the kitchen counter. "I'm on my way."

So that was the game that freak was playing. Years of dancing around each other. Wesker with his taunting little messages and clues. A step ahead of Chris at every fucking turn. Was this his end game? To lure Chris into a wild goose chase over a girl he barely knew? Or had it been to lure CLAIRE and guarantee that Chris would follow?

Chris cranked over the engine of his Honda DN-01 and gunned it, shooting off down the street like a black phantom. The motorcycle had been his first real gift to himself in ten years. It was a crossover (which pleased his eco-friendly sister) and faster then a two dollar tramp with a ten dollar tip (which pleased him).

He was headed to the head quarters of the BSAA (Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance). It masqueraded as a conspiracy theory newspaper and doubled as, you guessed, the last stand between terrorists and the rest of the free world.

They'd been trying to get him to sign on for years. He'd been reluctant, unwilling to put his time, his faith, or his skill in a hire power (look how corrupt STARS had been). But he was guessing they'd use the temptation of Wesker as the final nail in his coffin to get him to join. Claire had signed up years ago. She was mostly an ambassador, not a fighter, sent in to smooth the waters for foreign dignitaries and diplomats.

He'd freelanced plenty for the BSAA, was on good terms with the head of the outfit Barry Burton, and knew Jill and her erstwhile companion Carlos Oliveira (idiot) were in it as well.

In fact, he knew Leon Kennedy was a member. (He'd joined not long after some crazy fucking mission where he'd rescued the Presidents daughter. Chris still wasn't sure what the fuck the government was thinking sending one dude in alone.)

For the most part, he liked Kennedy. He and Claire were buddies and he'd saved her life in Raccoon. Not to mention the guy was a freaking hoot when he was drunk (upper class yuppy prep goes bad).

Chris had to pass three security check points just to be cleared into the inner portion of the building. A full body scan, a weapons check, an ocular scan and then a voice print analysis cleared him into the inner sanctum.

People milled around doing their daily routines. A few gophers were carrying trays full of expensive coffee (what was wrong with good old Folgers?) and manila folders and carts with mail.

A few lingered around a water cooler regaling each other with tales of last nights episode of _Lost. _(Chris didn't watch this show. He found the idea of people stuck together in extreme circumstances with unrealistic bad guys to just be ludicrous…)

The office at the end of a row of cubicles granted him glances of geeks playing Street Fighter and other games on their PC's as he passed.

The door opened and gave him three pairs of concerned eyes.

**NAME: CLAIRE REDFIELD**

**AGE: 29**

**HEIGHT: 5'5"**

**WEIGHT: WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW?**

**OCCUPATION: Nagging sister**

One pair was the duplicate blue of his own. Claire had gotten their mother's Irish good looks. Pretty soft features with robin's blue eyes and shiny red hair. She was slim and graceful and always made Chris feel like a hulking beast by comparison.

Chris had always been graced with their father's dark features (minus the blue eyes). He was darker haired, darker skinned then his sister, and (thank god) hairier. He usually had a five o'clock shadow by eight a.m. Claire was constantly telling him to shave his chest when they went swimming. (You look like a Yeti!) Which was so not true. He was 35 fucking years old. OF COURSE, he had body hair. He actually thought it was an attractive amount on his upper chest and his happy trail. If he'd actually been a yeti he would have waxed. Maybe.

**NAME: BARRY BURTON**

**AGE: OLD**

**HEIGHT: TALL**

**WEIGHT: 250 +**

**OCCUPATION: HMFIC (Head mother fucker in charge)**

The other pair of eyes on him belonged Barry Burton. Barry was tall and built like a brick shithouse with just a little suggestion of a spare tire around his middle that told the tale of his forty plus years. Barry and Claire shared that red haired, Irish gene that sorta made them resemble father and daughter.

The last pair of eyes Chris didn't recognize. Though he wasn't complaining. It was a nice pair of eyes. Doe brown, intelligent and judging, softened by a sweep of dark hair and set in a high cheekboned, aristocratic face the color of coffee with three creams.

He could appreciate the slim, athletic body encased in tank top and jeans. And really appreciate the butt he glimpsed in those jeans when she turned to pour herself some coffee. Black coffee, he noted, none of that frappe latte crap.

Claire came around the desk, "That was fast."

With a shrug, Chris accepted her brief embrace. "So tell me the rest of it."

Barry motioned to the chair in front of his desk, "Seat?"

"Pass," Chris answered, crossing his arms over his chest (with some difficulty seeing as his arms and chest were huge with muscle) "Spill it."

Stalling, Barry said, "You gotten bigger since last I saw you?"

"Probably. Out with it Burton. What else?"

Claire gestured to Barry to let her speak, "We decrypted the letter left in Sherry's dorm room and the clues seemed quite clearly to point to Tatla Makan rainforest. It implied she was being held prisoner somewhere outside of the village of Gisan."

Great. The fucking rainforest. Super. Somewhere in South America little Sherry Birkin was in trouble. And Chris would likely have to go there and sweat his nuts off trying to find Albert Wesker...no wait…to find HER.

"You've had this intel for three weeks and done nothing about it until now?" Did he sound as outraged as he felt? But wait, there was that look on Claire's face that said there was more bad news coming.

Barry spoke up before she could answer, "We sent Kennedy."

Chris's eyes went through his hair.

"He missed his last two scheduled check in's."

Great. GREAT. Super. Fantastic.

"So you want me to rescue the hero too huh?"

What WAS it with these people? They send one guy AGAIN to do the job. Sadly for them, he apparently wasn't living up to his name this time.

**NAME: LEON S. (what the hell does the S. stand for?) KENNEDY**

**AGE: 31**

**HEIGHT: PUNY**

**WEIGHT: PATHETIC**

**OCCUPATION: DAMSEL IN DISTRESS**

Claire looked concerned for her erstwhile comrade. Chris on the other hand stated the obvious, "Maybe he's running for his life. It happens when you're ALL ALONE surrounded by hostiles."

Barry rolled his eyes. "Whatever .The point is, the BSAA has decided to send in an evac team."

"You mean me?"

"I mean you…and Sheva." Barry gestured to the girl delicately sipping coffee beside him.

Chris put out a hand for shaking. Sheva cocked a brow and smirked, shaking his hand.

"Sheva Alomar," She intoned and, yep, that accent capped the package. She was hot. He was enough of a guy to admit it. "I'm with the BSAA attachment in the Congo."

**NAME: SHEVA ALOMAR**

**AGE: TOO YOUNG FOR CHRIS**

**HEIGHT: 5'7"**

**WEIGHT: 115 lbs**

**OCCUPATION: COMPLICATED LOVE INTEREST**

The BSAA had attachments in the African Congo? Interesting. Not relevant. But interesting.

"What about Jill? She and I have worked missions together plenty of times. No offense, "He said offhandedly to Sheva, "But we know each other's ins and outs."

Barry coughed and smirked.

Claire looked away.

Did everyone think he and Jill had been together? Lord. You take two attractive people, put them in extreme circumstances, have them face mortal danger, get their adrenaline pumping and people just ASSUME you were intimate.

They hadn't been. Not that it mattered. But they were just friends.

Sheva nodded briefly. "I understand. But Valentine is on assignment in the Congo. She can't be pulled. So you're stuck with me."

Chris shrugged. "Whatever. When do we leave?"

Barry gathered the pile of papers on his desk. "After you read this."

Ugh. He hated the briefing part of any mission. Legal mumbo jumbo and jargon that didn't do much more then confuse him. He was mostly a simple man. Point and shoot.

Chris took the papers. "Alright. I'll be ready in an hour. Get the chopper ready."

He turned to go and Claire grabbed his arm. "Bro, this is dangerous. Really dangerous. You know it's a trap right?"

He looked down into her sweet face. His baby sister. She was the reason he carried the lucky penny in his wallet.

"Yeah. I know. I have to go Claire. It's been a long time coming."

Claire nodded sadly. "Yes. I want to come with you."

He was already shaking his head. "No. You're not combat trained. No way. I couldn't do my job worrying about you. You stay here and do…whatever it is you do so well. Promise?"

She didn't like it. Not at all. He saw the Redfield pigheadedness written all over her face.

"Promise Claire. Or I won't go."

Through gritted teeth, she muttered, "I promise…jerk."

He kissed her forehead. "Good girl." And his eyes turned to Sheva, "You ready for this?"

She had a fantastic smile. Nice white teeth. "Yep."

"Good."

The door thunked closed on his exit, signaling the start of another adventure. He was halfway to the elevator to take him to the equipment room when he realized he'd forgotten to shut off the X-box. Now his character was undoubtedly dead, eaten alive by the undead. With a curse, he hit the button for the bottom floor.


	2. Chapter 2

_And so Chapter 2 begins. _

_Hail and well met to my reviewers at this point. Always a pleasure to have you read, even if you don't like the story at ALL._

_The love story gets a little attention here. Don't worry no trashy stuff. Just a little character development and plot set up. _

_What will happen to our hero and his lady? No idea. But I think he will come to the revelation that she was 13 when Raccoon City went down and it will give him pause in his possible pursuit of her. But perhaps not for long. She is very lovely after all._

_After this chapter the action picks up. Anyone who knows my stories is probably aware as well that once I start with the action, I very seldom let up for some time._

_Where is the story going?_

_Maybe I'll find out when you do._

TWO: A QUESTION OF VIRTUE

It was a hundred fifteen thousand fucking degrees in the jungle.

The trees and their shade didn't do much to lower the bodys natural reaction to sweat like a pig at a weenie roast. His clothes were built for extreme conditions: tight shirt, combat fatigues, steel toed leather boots. But unless he were stark naked next to an oasis, he somehow doubted he would EVER be cool enough.

On a different note, his partner looked plenty cool.

A fine sheen of sweat on her face just made her sparkle. Chris meanwhile looked like a drowned rat.

Sheva was geared in combat black and green and her outfit was tight enough it was giving him a headache looking at her. All he needed was to get distracted by a pretty pair of boo….ts.

They'd been in the jungle now for two damned days. Their rations were keeping them up and running (he didn't care if he EVER saw peanut butter again) but they were getting nowhere on locating either Sherry or the erstwhile Kennedy. Two dead ends presented from local hut dwellers had sent them chasing their tails all over the jungle.

Chris was getting impatient. Sheva remained stoic and calm.

Apparently she'd been selected as his antithesis. The ying to his yang. She was constantly optimistic, always willing to go the extra mile. She was fluid and graceful and so beautiful it made his stomach cramp like he had really bad gas. This was how Chris knew he was into a girl. It wasn't butterflies or cutesy little flutters of the heart. Nope. It was like eating bad shell fish. So much for _Harlequin Romance _novels.

He paused while searching another abandoned hut to rub the back of his neck. His gloved hand came back soaked in sweat. Naturally.

From outside the hut, Sheva called, "Any luck partner?" It sounded like paah-tner. That accent was making it even harder to concentrate.

He exited the hut and found that outside wasn't any cooler then inside. In fact, he thought it might actually be hotter in the direct blaze of the sun.

"Nothin." Chris leaned against the wall, wishing, not for the first time, for a beer. "I think we've been had. I feel _Punk'_d. I think Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out any minute."

Sheva smiled gently and brushed a hand over his arm. "We're on the edge of something, Chris. We have to be."

It was just a little touch really. Very companionable. But combined with her sweetness, her beauty and her ability to handle herself, it was like a kick in the teeth. He simultaneously wanted to grab her and ravage her mouth and slap her away to give him peace.

With a sigh, he shifted away from her. "Come on," he intoned gloomily, "Let's keep looking."

Unaware that his foul mood had anything to do with her, Sheva nodded and kept pace with him as they made their way down another endless dirt trail through winding trees. The sweltering heat of the jungle wasn't their only obstacle. Untried terrain and over grown vegetation offered no real respite from the harrowing trek through the sodden, stifling climate.

They came upon another abandoned hut around noon. Or he was guessing noon as the sun seemed to be at its zenith high in the blazing blue sky. A quick sweep of the perimeter told them two things: No one lived there and the evacuation was recent.

A piece of parchment on the ratty table in the center of the hut revealed a childs drawing of two stick people playing with a ball. Likely the family was out working somewhere and just hadn't returned for the day.

A tub of dirty water still slightly cool told him someone had been there recently enough that the water had yet to warm from the heat. He was getting ready to exit the hut and reconnect with Sheva when he heard her give a terrified shout over the headset.

His adrenaline fired up causing him to kick open the door to the hut with enough force to throw it wide against the far wall as he rushed through the door already aiming his sidearm, a 9mm Glock 17.

He swept the immediate area, the trees, and moved toward the sound of her foot steps. It sounded like she was running.

"Give me a PO Sheva. I need to know where you're at."

Over the headset, her voice came again, sounding close. "Chris, hurry. Please. She's hurt. I'm a kilk east."

Birkin? He started running.

It didn't take him long. He could run like the wind when it suited him. Although in a race, Sheva would win hands down. Being big had a few draw backs.

She was crouched when he caught sight of her over the body of a little girl.

He stopped beside her, keeping an eagle eye on their surroundings.

Without glancing at the girl, he intoned gently, "She alive?"

Sheva nodded briefly, "She's breathing. Barely. She was stabbed at close range. Three holes in the upper chest. I've packed the wound with gauze and used hemostat…but…"

He glanced down at Sheva's face. She was heartbroken. It was written all over those delicate features. His gaze shifted to the child. Little. No more then four or five and filthy.

"Can you carry her?"

Sheva nodded, picking the girl up in her arms.

"Let's get her to the hut. I'll cover."

They walked together, Chris aware of every nuance of the jungle. One little girl alone out here hardly seemed likely. Was it a trap? If so, it was a good one. No one would leave a child alone to die in this place.

They were halfway to the hut when the little girl lifted her hand. Awake, she was trying to give a grubby piece of paper to Sheva. Her little face was terrified.

Sheva, holding the child, was unable to take it so Chris did, smiling softly to the child to help calm her.

"Thank you." He opened it, trying to read the scrawl that was written across it.

What was written there stopped his heart and then kicked it into high gear.

_Gotcha._

The paper fell from his fingers in slow motion. The world slid into slow motion. It seemed he had endless time to move and it couldn't have been more then a few seconds.

His eyes saw the tiny flashing red light five steps in front of them. His hands caught Sheva and the girl. He turned, pulling them into his body, his back to that tiny, evil red flash.

He wasn't going to be fast enough, he thought as he took the first two steps, pulling two people with him, not fast enough.

A high pitched whine sounded. They were ten steps away when the charge blew.

He felt the world shift, scorch, the wind that burst over his back was scalding. Fire licked up into the sky like starving tongues, taking the trees and the grass with it. He was lifted off his feet with the impact, still cradling two others against him.

The force of the blow threw them up and out, scattered like toys tossed by a malicious child.

He cushioned their fall as much as possible, bearing the brunt of the impact as he hit the forest floor and skidded, smashing into a tree.

Pain coursed up his back threatening him with unconsciousness. He disconnected it, digging down into his training and self discipline for the ability to stay awake. It was like throwing a switch, one minute screaming pain, the next inertia.

He laid there, Sheva and the girl atop him, and just breathed.

Chris could smell the stench of burning wet underbrush not far from where they lay. It had been close. Had the girl given him the note a second later….

But one riddle was answered. It was a trap.

There were eyes on them. Wesker knew they were there. And now the game was on.

Sheva had sat up with the little girl. The girl was weak, pale, her large dark eyes seemingly enormous in her tiny face. She was staring at Chris like he was Superman. It wasn't a bad feeling.

"You alright?" He queried gently.

The little girl nodded.

"I'm Chris." He held out a hand to her, surprised to find the other hand still held the Glock. Nice reflexes, Redfield.

The little girl shook her head and opened her mouth.

Sheva let out a hiss of angry air. She had only half a tongue. Someone had sliced the other half completely away.

"Who did this to you honey?" Sheva brushed dirty hair off the girls forehead as she addressed her.

But the little girl was crying now, making sounds that were even more awful for lack of tongue movement. Pitiful little gasps and grunts that signified the end of fear and the beginning of pain from the wounds on her body.

Reaching into his medpack, Chris extracted a numbing agent and gently pressed the plunger against the girl's thigh. In seconds, she would feel no pain.

It worked like a charm and the girl sniffed back tears. The wounds in her chest were seeping through the gauze. The hemostat had slowed it but not stopped it. That meant they were deeper then anything Sheva or Chris could do for her.

Alarmed, Sheva met his eyes. He shook his head gently. No reason to scare the child more. There was nothing they could do but hurry to the town of Gisan and hope someone there had enough skill to save her.

Chris's medical skills were null. He wasn't any good at doing much but cutting off a bleeder and removing a bullet from his own skin.

They trudged onward, Chris carrying the child when the weight began to affect Sheva. They were wary now and very watchful, constantly aware that someone, somewhere was watching them. With each step, each shallow breath from the child, Chris's rage grew.

Wesker was a monster. He'd known it. He'd always known. But to use a child as a pawn in a private game with Chris was a new low. For a bad guy, usually Wesker had a fairly decent sense of fair play. He'd used Claire, sure, he was evil that was a given, but to use this child…

They couldn't be far from the town. Surely. He thought they were close after more then two hours of walking.

"I'm going to kill him."

His eyes turned to Sheva, the first to break their silence.

"It's not easy." Chris returned quietly, glancing down at the child huddled so small against his chest. "He doesn't die like others."

Sheva glanced at him before taking up her scan again. "You've fought before."

Not a question, a statement of fact.

"Yes." He didn't elaborate.

"I've seen a lot with the BSAA." Sheva said softly, "Africa…it's a wasteland of terror and disease in parts as well as Paris and Istanbul. Umbrella made a mess of the Congo before they were broken apart. I've seen the effects of their bioagents. I've put bullets in infected. I've killed…but this girl…she was…"

"Tortured." He finished gently. And Sheva nodded.

She turned her gaze to him. "You survived Raccoon City."

That part she'd likely read in the report on him. Something in her gaze told him she wanted to know more then he was willing to part with.

"Yes." He met her gaze equally but again, didn't elaborate.

"Was it bad?"

It was a nightmare. A filthy, horrible, waking horror filled nightmare that plagued his sleep for years. A decade later he hadn't forgotten. He never would.

"Yes."

"Chris…"She touched his arm, he opened his mouth to respond and the girl against his chest stopped breathing.

Panic had him dropping to his knees in the grass.

He began CPR although it was hard on such a tiny chest with so many holes in. His hands were slick with blood after the first set of pumps.

Sheva stood over him keeping guard.

He breathed into that little mouth and pumped again. One, two, three, four, five, breathe.

The heat of the jungle broke with the rain. A light drizzle that became a steady down pour. Undeterred, he kept working. One, two, three, four, five, breathe.

He was soaked to the skin when Sheva laid her hand upon his arm. "Chris…"

One, two, three…

"Chris."

The little girl had red hair under all the dirt. Red hair like Claire.

"Chris…she's gone."

He slowed compressions, staring at that tiny, still face.

"She's gone Chris."

He knew that. He did. He lifted that tiny body from the ground into his arms and said, blankly, "Let's keep going."

They walked in silence, the rain beating down upon them like an angry abusive spouse. The heat became a thing of memory, lost under the lulling touch of a steady fall of water.

The edge of the village came into view. Gisan was a ragged village, typically down trodden with thatched roofed huts and basic brick workmanship. It was typical third world oppression. Everywhere you looked you saw poverty. In the faces of those who waited along the road side, watching them as they passed, in the meager fare of vegetables and black bread that was being offered a stall up ahead.

A woman in a pair of tattered wool pants and a tank top came forward as they passed a hut.

"Your daughter," She said in heavily accented English, "She is ill?"

Sheva said quietly, "We found her along the road…she's…"

The woman nodded with sympathy and opened her arms. "We can see she is buried with the others…things here…have become…" She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

Chris was reluctant to hand the girl over. But the woman waited patiently. And her face…so kind. He knew the little girl would find peace wherever she was taken to.

He placed her gently into the woman's arms.

"I will see she is taken care of." The woman said quietly, "Please stay. Wait out the rain. You may use the hut at the end of the road. It is empty. The woman who lived there…."

No other words were necessary. Sheva nodded gently.

"There is plenty of bread and cheese in the hut. Please…help yourself."

Chris was always humbled by the generosity of the poor. They had nothing and they gave everything. In all the countries he'd been in, it was always those who had little who'd offered him help along the way. When he'd been broken or bleeding or starving, they'd opened heart and home to him without so much as a word of complaint.

The hut was modestly dry inside. The thatched roof had held up to the rain surprisingly well. There was a simple bed, a table and two chairs and a wood burning stove beneath two cabinets. A tattered curtain hung to one side, revealing a single sink and toilet just beyond.

He said nothing to Sheva as he removed his tactical vest and holster and tossed them on the straw mattress against the wall. The climate controlled shirt was a little harder, peeling off his flesh with an almost human sound.

Sheva was watching him, still fully clothed.

"You'll catch pneumonia if you keep that wet shit on." He said stoically as bent down to unfasten his boots.

"You did everything you could." She said gently.

"I know that." The rage was a fine, trembling thing, causing his hands to shake as he balled up the wet socks in his fist and squeezed out the moisture. He took the socks to hang them over the back of one of the chairs.

"You're letting him win, you know. By reacting this way."

He shot her a dirty look over his shoulder as he removed his head set and laid it on the table. "You have no idea about him and I. None. Don't pretend to."

"I know what its like to hate someone so much its like being eaten alive."

So calm. So clear.

He studied her face for a moment. "Maybe you do. But you can't understand this. Ten years of this. Of these games. First me, then my sister…he's taken away anything that's mattered to us. Everything worth anything. My parents…" Don't, he thought, don't go into it. But his mouth kept moving. "They died in Raccoon. Probably became one of those soulless fucks and ate each other. Claire…she was just a kid. She barely made it out alive. And he didn't stop there. Because I survived. Because I bested him that day in Raccoon City, he made it his lifes mission to torture me and what was left of our family. He used Claire as a weapon against me. And she was the only person who mattered, the only one I let close enough to matter. If I didn't love anyone…he didn't have another pawn to use against me.."

He shook his head to deny the gentle hand that touched his arm. To deny the sympathy. He didn't want it.

"Don't. Don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for him. Because he might kill me before this is over. He probably will. But I will take his sorry ass with me when I go."

It was all he had. All he had left to believe in. Revenge. A poor bed partner. A sorry reason to live. But there it was.

He shrugged off that soft hand. "Get out of those clothes, Sheva. Before you get sick. Sick won't help us find Sherry Birkin or Kennedy."

The trembling had moved up his hands to his arms. He was so angry, so mad, so tired of fighting but he didn't know any other way. He flashed on that tiny still face and drove his fingers up into his hair to try to block to the pain.

As a woman, Sheva Alomar could appreciate the amazing strength in the body before her. He was huge. Muscled nearly to the point of being too big. But each line of his body was bred for strength, for purpose. From a purely feminine stand point, he made her knees weak.

He had scars on his body. Slash marks over his back, bullet wounds that were shiny and old in his left shoulder, the back of his right shoulder graced with a tattoo bearing the insignia of the long dead S.T.A.R.S he'd so righteously served years ago. His face was a mixture of features beneath a scruffy shadow of beard, the blue eyes and slightly crooked nose over full lips. He wasn't classically handsome. His face was rugged and strong, with a square jaw and ears that seemed somewhat stranded amongst closely cropped hair.

They'd known each other a handful of days. Just a handful but he'd shown her a personality that at turns infuriated her and made her laugh. He had an ability to make light of any situation that balanced out her by the book approach to things.

Her heart ached for him now, here in this jungle, his lightness obliterated with the tragedy they'd shared. He blamed himself, it was written all over his face.

As a woman, she was drawn to him. He had a presence that commanded your attention. A gentleness, especially when speaking of Claire, that told of an upbringing built around respect and love. And again, that body…no fat. Not an ounce.

As a professional, she hated knowing she was drawn to him. She'd had plenty of male partners and never been tempted before. What was it about this man that tempted her?

She watched him squeeze water out of his hair and the grief in the gesture prompted her to do something she'd never done before. She crossed a professional line and moved forward.

He froze at the touch of her hands on him. She slid her arms around his chest and laid her cheek against his back. He thought his heart would fall out his ass.

Her fingers barely met at the apex of his chest. She wasn't really a small woman but then he wasn't really an average sized guy either.

It was the hug that did it, that broke his resolve. He turned in her arms until her hands were flat against his chest. His gloved fingers rose to cup hers against the fine dusting of hair above his nipples. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. He could see her eyes, just a little too wide.

"Sheva."

Her name from his lips had her eyes fluttering closed. She knew she should pull back. She knew she should.

He lowered his forehead to hers.

She smelled like rain water and sunshine. He of salt and survival.

They stayed pressed there, forehead to forehead and both of them knew they'd crossed a line. The question was how far over it they were willing to go.

"We should sleep," She said but she didn't move her hands, "We don't know when we might be able to again."

"Yeah," He was rubbing gentle circles in her skin with his thumbs, "Might be days before we get the chance."

"Yes." Pull back, he thought but he held there and wondered when such a simple embrace had become so meaningful. Just her hands on his chest, their foreheads together. So simple. So dangerous.

They parted, her fingers sliding away from his damp skin.

They hadn't done anything wrong right? No groping. No humping. He told himself as she moved away behind the curtain to remove her wet clothing. They hadn't done anything wrong.

She emerged in her bra and panties and he almost died right there on the floor.

"I can…if you think I should…"

He lifted a hand to stop her sputtering. "No. We're okay. This is fine. We're adults. I'll just…lay on the floor. You take the bed."

She was already shaking her head. "Don't be silly. We can share the bed."

Lord. Good god in heaven high on crack no way. He laughed a little. "I don't think that's a good idea at all."

Sheva smiled. "We're adults right? We can appreciate simple human contact and not act on it. Or maybe I could put up a pillow fort between us if you can't hack it."

AHA. Play to his male ego. Nicely done. "Touché.." He gestured to the bed, "You in first. I never could resist a challenge."

She was glad his sense of humor was coming back. It would ease the tension some to have him begin his cocky old self. He was easier to resist this way. At least, that's what she told herself.

Sheva climbed in and Chris slid in beside her, effectively trapping her between the wall and his massive back.

"….really. I don't think so. I'm suffocating over here."

He rolled over with a grin. "Can't hack it?"

"Uh not stuck between two walls, no."

Chris stuck out his arm. "Lay your head on my chest then, if you think you can handle my macho self touching you."

With a snort, Sheva complied. "You know, it's a lot easier to resist you when act like a snotty school boy."

Cocking a brow, Chris glanced down at her wet dark hair on his skin. "I'll keep that in mind for future use."

She gently put her hand on his chest, feeling the thump of his heart. "Two hours of sleep. Then we move. We have no idea how close our watchers are."

Back to reality, he thought but he cupped that hand over his chest anyway. "Deal."

They drifted into sleep each of them thinking of the other, grieving for a little girl they'd barely known, and worrying about what might be waiting just beyond the door.

'


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3 and counting. _

_Again, many thanks for the r&r's. Helps to know someone appreciates my whimsy. _

_Shall we discover what is occurring in the world of RE?_

CHAPTER 3: THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UNDEAD

Cigarette smoke trailed in a wispy line from dangling fingers. He was watching the monitors with eyes resembling a reptile, with a mind resembling a machine, with a soul that had long since abandoned the flesh containing it.

**NAME: ALBERT WESKER**

**AGE: GERIATRIC**

**HEIGHT: BIG AND BAD**

**WEIGHT: 230 lbs**

**OCCUPATION: MORTAL ENEMY**

Albert Wesker sat poised in front of his group of monitors. He abhorred watching the ridiculous screens conveying information. He found it tedious but, alas, also necessary.

Currently two of the eight screens showed him Sherry Birkin, huddled in a corner of her cell, crying into the dirty pillow clutched close against her chest. She was terrified, poor girl. It was quite disappointing that she wasn't more of a challenge given her history in Raccoon City and knowing what a sport her father had been about biochemistry. She'd been quite difficult to track at first. The government had had tight lids on her information but a full well greased palms and some very tactful work by Ada Wong had given him the keys to the kingdom.

Ada, often, was the ace in the hole. It turns out that most men caved more easily under pressure from a woman in a tight dress. Sex, it appeared, turned more confidences then greed. How pathetic.

Just another reason Wesker resented the human race. So petty, so simple and disgusting. Always doing things for "love" or "lust".

One of the idiots in question was making his way toward the compound. Wesker had lost Kennedy on the radar a few days prior after a particularly nasty tangle with some of the super efficient X-series that had left the idiot maimed if not broken.

Apparently the moron had discovered he was being watched and taken great pains to keep himself hidden. Likely he was dead at this point, starved or set upon by the countless infected scurrying around the jungle. But Wesker never assumed. He'd learned his lesson about underestimating humans in Raccoon City.

Meanwhile the game with Redfield was going well. The little girl had died in the rain, so poetic and Redfield was even now making his way deeper into the trap so carefully laid out. Of course there was no telling if he'd make it. A lot of infected stood between him and Wesker but, should he die along the way, so much the better. It was just one more thing taken care of from Wesker's long since ended human life.

He glanced at the monitor in space number four. It showed the hut where Redfield was sleeping. Feeling bored, looking for something to amuse him, Wesker hit the button on his intercom, "Wilson."

"Yes sir?"

"Release a quadrant of the infected near Gisan and two of the X-series from captivity. I want to test their combat abilities."

"Yes sir."

He loved subordinates. Always so eager to obey.

Not caring about the hundreds he'd just consigned to death with a press of a button, Wesker sat back to watch the show.

………………………………………………………………………………….

They were almost fully dressed; the few hours of sleep they'd finagled giving them the incentive to get moving. Somewhere out there, hopefully, Sherry Birkin was waiting. If she was being hidden somewhere with Kennedy, so much the better. It would just allow Chris to hunt down Wesker unrestrained.

Chris finished strapped his machete onto his back and opened his mouth to say something flirty to Sheva when they both heard it. It sounded like howling.

Outside, someone began to scream.

Moving in tandem, they hit the door, Chris coming through high and Sheva low, scanning the perimeter.

It was chaos; people were fleeing in every direction.

Down the street, a horde of running, rampant, red eyed freaks came charging. The humans were easy to discern from the infected, they fell prey to mouths and crushing hands. Bodies littered the street in moments, tossed aside like so much garbage. Blood was a fine mist of pink like fog in the sky around them.

"Jesus," Sheva murmured. Chris was inclined to agree.

They had seconds before the first wave was upon them.

"Back into the house!" He commanded and Sheva was already with him, slamming the door when they'd backed in.

Chris jerked the bed from against the wall and crammed it hard and fast beneath the handle of the door, making a make shift barricade. It was crude but with the first ramming thud from outside, it was also effective. It would hold, for a moment or more.

"We're fucked!" Sheva cried as she scanned the interior of the hut. "There's no windows. They're going to starve us out."

Chris holstered his Glock, jerking the Mossberg 12 gauge pump action shotgun off his back and loading it. "We'll clear a path."

"You have no idea how many are out there."

"Nope."

"It's a kamikaze move at best."

"Yep." He turned his face to her. "You got a better idea?"

"Nope." And she actually smiled. Sheva reached down and retrieved the MPT-9k SMG from her. He had to admit, the girl was smart about weapons.

"Legs." He instructed, "After I clear out the first wave, go for the legs."

Sheva nodded.

It was only a matter of moments before their barricade gave and the infected spilled into the doorway. It wasn't ideal to be on the inside looking out but the doorway gave them a bottle neck advantage. Only so many could fit through the small opening at a time.

Chris waited until four of them had gotten jammed in the opening before he opened fire. The shotgun bucked blasting through bone and body with a mighty fury. Blood and bits of fleshed rained outward in a pink mist as faces were obliterated and the infected screamed, stumbling and falling over their murdered comrades.

The next wave of them came through the door, screaming for blood in a language Chris was guessing was some butchered form of Spanish. This was difference between these infected and Raccoon City. They retained enough high brain power to use speech.

They were also smarter then he'd thought. After another shotgun blast took out three more, they seemed to fall back from the open door, lingering outside and waiting. Not so eager to die, it seemed.

"Me first." He instructed, "Cover me and go for the legs of the single stragglers. Make for the trees and cover."

"Got it."

He went out the door over the bodies and came face to face with one of the infected waiting. Its breath was terrible, blasting his face with the smell of old blood and rotten flesh. It was reactionary to bust the thing in the face as hard as he could with his fist. He hit it so hard that he felt the collapse of its jaw through the bones of his hand. It was a direct uppercut administered so forcefully that his arm vibrated after the thing fell backward. On a human, it would have broken their neck.

The infected swarmed around them, moving in so quickly that the shotgun became a melee weapon instead of a gun. He bashed and broke faces with it like a prize baseball bat.

They were outnumbered. Badly, badly outnumbered. Sheva executed a sommersault, knocking a small cluster back from her small form. They were slowly working their way back but the mass of bodies was too many. The sea of endless, starving faces like a decaying nightmare. Chris tried, he tried, not to flash back to images of Raccoon City and the hordes of undead plaguing the streets like vermin.

It was stupidity more then anything that put him right in the grip of one. He was backing up, firing shots with the shotgun when hands closed over his shoulders. For a skinny, emaciated thing it was strong as hell. In human strength pinned him so tightly it was like being wrapped in a steel rubber band. Sheva was no where in sight, the horde of the freaks was rapidly closing tighter and he was trapped.

Filthy breath landed on his neck, teeth scraped over his skin. He drove his elbow back and felt those teeth scrap against skin a second before the thing released him, squealing with pain. It wasn't the best hit but it was solid enough to save his life.

Two more rounds from the shotgun, three and still no sign of Sheva.

"SHEVA!" Over the headset, his voice sounded tinny and mechanical…and very very afraid.

"Chris!" Her voice was nearly lost over the screaming of the hungry. An endless din of hunger and rage that was deafening.

He fought harder, shouldering the shotgun when it was empty, pulling the Glock. The only thing keeping him going was the distant rattata of the SMG, signaling that somewhere Sheva was alive.

There was no time for a headshot, no time to do more then point and shoot and pray. When one fumbled, he was there throwing punches that would cripple a human. And it was infuriating that all his strength meant nothing next to disease. Being able to dead lift over four hundred pounds didn't make you a god but it was the only thing keeping him alive.

The Glock was empty. The Mossberg exhausted. He had spare ammo but no time to load it. He was dead and going to take every fucking one of them with him.

"Chris!" Again over the headset. This time she sounded closer and terrified.

His blood surged and he caught sight of her. A flash of caramel skin and ponytail amongst the starving horde.

The adrenaline shot through him like wildfire, propelling him forward through a mess of the starving. He drove a kick through the center of them that knocked them around like bowling pins and ran.

She was pinned now, stuck between two them. One had her held backward against its chest, its mouth diving for her throat.

The other was on the ground, grabbing her ankles to try to gnaw her skin.

He didn't think, he reacted. His boot came down so hard he heard the terrible wet crack of skull, felt the hot gush of blood as its head exploded in a burst of bone and brain. His fist flew out like the wrath of hell, smashing that diving face an inch from her throat. The hit was so hard his entire arm went numb from the force of it and that face caved in on itself like melted wax.

He grabbed Sheva and yanked her forward as the thing went down, pulling her in against his body, putting her behind him as another thing launched toward them, scraping its grimy mitts over his chest. She shoved him aside as it grasped him and plowed a roundhouse kick right into its chest.

The kick spun the thing around completely and it stumbled to regain its balance. Chris didn't wait; he grabbed its jaw, braced his other hand on the back of its skull and twisted. The things neck gave with a wet snap of severed bone.

Adrenaline turned them both into machines. They fought like this for several moments, Sheva wielding a knife as long as her arm, slashing throats after a powerful punch from Chris knocked them down.

But it was tedious. The horde just kept coming.

It was over. They were going to die. The circle tightened around them and they could no longer back up, could no longer run.

Hands scraped over his chest, over his hair and Chris roared his rage. The cry of a man forsaken, of a caged animal.

The cry was echoed by a howling. A terrible warbling wail that reminded Chris of that summer his parents had taken him and Claire to the Grand Canyon. They'd been camping out when they'd heard it. A hungry, terrible baying so loud it had woken them from sleep. His father had told them it was the coyotes hunting.

Whatever it was now, it had the infected scattering like swatted flies. They retreated, racing off into the setting sun.

He and Sheva were suddenly alone.

Adrenaline continued to pulse. He wasn't stupid. This was a false freedom. Something was coming. Something bad enough to scare off hundreds of infected.

They had minutes to run. And no idea if they were running right toward it.

The jungle closed around them as they ran, reloading as they moved. A slope in the terrain spilled them into a river and water closed over his waist. They were trudging through water thicker and darker then blood. Behind them, the howling went on ever closer.

Sheva slipped and Chris was there, grasping her at the elbow and pulling her up and free of the rip tide that threatened to take them both under. She had a moment to sputter before she was clasped against his front like a monkey, aiming over his shoulder with her 9mm as they moved. She didn't argue about equal rights for women, she just let him bear the brunt of movement through the difficult tide and kept watch over their backs.

It was refreshing, after his experiences with Claire in Antarctica, to have a partner that didn't question you every step of the way or start shouting about feminism.

A loud splash signaled the arrival of their howling friend. It thundered into the water without restraint, causing the current to swirl and kick around them. Chris struggled against the weight of the water, the will of mother nature to knock him down and carry him out to sea. He trusted Sheva to watch their backs.

She fired and the sound was loud, near deafening against his ear. A loud ringing began when she'd finished firing causing the answering wail of their pursuer to seem muffled in comparison.

They cleared the water and he let her go, whipping around to take aim beside her. The thing tearing through the water had obviously started life as a man. Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe it had started life as a demon.

It was the epitome of what he'd always assumed the wolfman would look like. White as snow, huge and hulking, graced with claws as long as a mans arm and bent legs with thighs as big as tree trunks. It was hairless save for its shaggy head with an elongated snout and protruding black eyes. The torso and arms were suspiciously human in build and structure.

Blood erupted from each shot that hit its mark. Chris jacking shells into the shotgun and firing even as Sheva unloaded with her 9mm but it was like shooting at a train. It just kept coming. And with each bound through the water, it began to heal.

Sheva yelled, "Run!"

And they did. They turned and took off, slopping wet and furious through the unknown jungle before them. They moved like humans and like humans they had limits. Eventually they would tire, eventually they would fall and eventually well…the thing chasing them would eat them alive.

'


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4 a little late but eh…_

_So things are moving now. Chris and Sheva, obvious chemistry between these two. Perhaps obvious is the key word here. Worry not my fair readers they shan't partake of the bounty of each other for some time. _

_Those looking for Mr. Kennedy, a dear fave of mine, shall be inclined to read on. As he MIGHT make an appearance shortly. And we may discover what he's been doing. Those who enjoy my tales my find inference from other stories with our heroes. Obviously I joke with the little bios scattered through out the tale. Remember, this is mostly Chris's point of view. And Chris is a little jealous of Leon's heroism. _

_Bwahaha. Many thanks to those who continue to read this crap. It makes a girl smile._

**CHAPTER 4: SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES**

The quagmire of the jungle elongated before them. Each step was like taking a flying leap into quicksand and praying for the ability to fly. They were dead. They were dead and running.

Chris, bred for strength before speed and distance, developed his plan in midstep.

"Sheva!" He grabbed her arm to slow her. She was faster then he was but she'd slowed her pace to stay with him.

"You have to go on without me!"

"No!" Immediate, her response, and heated. She grabbed his bicep and yanked. "Move, you idiot! Move!"

The howling wasn't far behind them now and getting closer.

"Sheva, I can't out run in. I'm going to stay, fight, try to hold it back. One of us HAS to go on!"

Her face, god so fucking beautiful, and sooooo fucking pissed. "I won't let you martyr yourself, god damnit! I can't do this alone!"

Clever, she was. Playing that card. A little like Claire.

"You can. You CAN." He gripped her arms and shoved her forward. "Go. Find a tree, climb up it. I'll try to radio for help. I'll hold it back. Finish the mission. It's the only thing that matters."

Closer now, that howling. He could see the trees shaking in the distance as it charged.

"Chris…"

He shook his head, hard. "Tell Claire…tell her…" He had nothing. GOD. The last thing he'd ever say to his sister and he had nothing.

Sheva looked stricken now. Afraid. "You won't die. Don't say it. Don't." She turned, started running and looked back. "Don't you die on me, Chris Redfield!"

And she was gone. Off through the jungle.

He jacked a shell into the shotgun and turned, facing the coming horror, facing his death. Adrenaline beat like angry wings through his body, affording him what felt like the strength of a thousand gods. He could do this. He could fight it. He would. He had to.

It came out of the trees in a blur of teeth and fur. The shotgun exploded in his hands simultaneously, blasting away at that charging jaw.

Bone and blood burst away from its shaggy head, showing shiny sky where its face had been. It staggered, thick claws waving wildly as it whipped around a faceless head.

He fired again, directly into its chest and again, and again trying desperately not to give it time to recover, to heal. But it was healing so fast he didn't think it mattered.

He fired into its legs and down it went, face first into the dirt. But it was up again in moments, its face restored save for the skin. Its snout now nothing but naked bone with rapidly reknitting muscle atop it.

The shotgun clicked empty and he swung it back, pulled his handgun, and that's when it jumped. Though jumped was putting it mildly. It took flight, straight up into the air faster then he could process.

He ran back toward where it had been. Something told him if it landed on him he was toast. If the sheer weight didn't crush him, those claws would eviscerate him in the first swipe.

The earth shook when it landed, throwing him off course, sending him staggering to one knee as he tried desperately to regain his footing. He felt the air singe with the heat of its labored breathing.

He turned and down it came. The world slowed, frozen in crystal for the time it took for his hands to come up and its claw to come down. They connected, Chris catching its wrist a half an inch away from his face. His biceps bulged, the monster screamed but by god, he wouldn't die like this. Not like this. Not on one knee facing down this fucker.

The strength of the monster kept him there on his knee, unable to do anything but channel every ounce of strength into his hands and arms to keep that claw from bisecting him.

It was brave and stupid to have offered to stay. It was. But that's just who he was. He hoped Claire understand that when she had to bury him in pieces.

The monster howled, infuriated. And then it remembered it had another arm.

The strength of the hit to the side of his body tossed him like a toy. He was airborne, thrown up and through the air with enough force that he heard the wind seconds after he'd flown through it. He crashed into a tree and came down hard, hitting the earth on his back and jarring his bones to the point he wondered if he'd broken something or possibly everything.

No time to think, he rolled, sheer adrenaline keeping his body from processing the pain that would like eat him alive later if he lived long enough to feel it. He was to his feet when the slice came.

Later, he'd wonder if he could have avoided it. Maybe he could have. If he hadn't been nearly deaf in both ears from the fall and Sheva's gun.

One clawed hand sliced down his left side in a nearly perfect arch. It didn't hurt, which was a bad sign. Not right away. His upper arm and back of his shoulder split like ripe fruit, gushing blood like a fountain into his face and down his chest. He staggered, teetered, and tumbled into a crouch narrowly missing the second swipe that would have taken his head.

Luckily for him, it jabbed with its next hit instead of swiping again and he could turn his body into the movement, grasp its wrist and pull. Its own momentum threw it forward, sending it staggering forward and giving him the time he needed to pull his machete.

His left arm was almost useless, bleeding so badly he nearly slipped in his own blood as he charged.

It turned so fast, howling, and its own speed allowed him to leap onto its back and spin with it, his bad arm clasped around its neck. He hung on, spinning as it swung around, desperately trying to fling him off, whipping its great head around to dislodge him.

Through the chaos he slit its throat, feeling the gush of blood over his arm, feeling the rapidly beating pulse as he sliced and then stabbed, fast and hard, with everything he had right into its carotid. Still it spun, spun, screaming now in pain and anger, screaming as it bled, as he bled, as he pulled, pulled, trying, trying to get the machete to go through the bone of its neck and decapitate it.

But no. It wasn't going to happen. Couldn't. His arm gave out. His bad arm gave up and he fell onto the earth in a pool of blood. His? The monsters? It was all red.

The monster listed drunkenly, its head trying to flap around, half decapitated. It turned and Chris lunged, even with one bad arm, dying, toward it. He was dying. He knew he had to be dying. He was weakening so quickly and his vision was spotty from blood loss.

He caught it in a bear hug, pushing himself into its body, into its personal space. Here was inside the attack zone, its long, awkward arms couldn't reach him. Its snout wasn't working right while it tried to heal its badly damaged through. Chris drove the machete into its back with the one good hand he had, over and over while it howled.

So weak. He staggered. His breathing was heavy. Dying.

_Claire…sorry…have babies…jesus…_

His brain was scrambled. The monster shook him free finally, howling and Chris stumbled, staggered and turned, listing badly still clutching the machete in his blood slick fist.

"COME ON!" He bellowed it, "You stupid fuck! COME ON!"

It lunged. Slow motion again. The world would end in a gray splotched, blood tinged slow motion ride.

It lunged and someone yelled, "GET DOWN!"

Training, instinct, or loss of consciousness had him doing just that. He collapsed, belly down onto the earth and felt the rush of fire over his head. Flame?

His eyes lost focus and came back again. Above him, blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair and a flamethrower aimed at the thing that was now screaming as it burned alive.

"Kennedy?" It was a whisper.

Figured he'd be saved by Claire's poster boy for perfection. Figured. Figured he'd die at Kennedy's feet.

"Chris!!" Sheva?

Cool hands on his face. Voices.

"Jesus! He's bleeding so badly. I need MORE hemostat!"

"Use what we have. It's all we can do. Tourniquet the arm as best as you can. There's a village not far from here. It's a fishing town. We'll get him there and hope infection doesn't set in."

"Oh GOD infection. Infection. Jesus. Los plagas?"

"I don't know. We can only wait and see. Hurry."

Voices. Voices.

Someone lifting him and then the darkness came and took away everything but the dreams.

'


	5. Chapter 5

_So 4 was up slow because I had it mostly finished and then bought RE5 and lost my way. It turned out not bad, a little hectic but I enjoyed writing it (Minus some typos that I saw only upon having posted the dang thing. Apologies) And here is 5 because I came home tonight and just had it all in my head and plop down it went. _

_Thanks sincerely to all you guys who've given your critiques. I'm going to try my best to keep the action hectic and slower stuff slow. Since we know that Chris is injured (badly?! I don't know) things will ease back for a moment as we touch deeper into the attraction between our hero and his lady._

_Also I'm giving Chris a middle name. Don't know if he already has one. Maybe its mentioned somewhere but either way, I'm giving him one._

_Look for more characters to appear and say hi as the story progresses. Keep on telling me how much you like it and the faster I'll get it up. It really is readers that inspire me to keep going._

**CHAPTER 5 LOVE…REDFIELD STYLE**

Sheva Alomar knew two things:

One-she didn't know if she liked Leon Kennedy. He was stoic. And that was okay. Stoic she could reconcile with. She, herself, usually on missions was stoic and very by the book. But Kennedy…he was nearly emotionless. She wasn't sure what made him that way. Wasn't sure he'd say if she asked. But since they'd gotten to the fishing village and Kennedy had utilized the contacts he'd made there to secure them lodging, he hadn't hardly said more then a few words. What he did say was short, clipped, and authoritative indicating he was very used to being in charge. So she didn't know if she liked Leon Kennedy as a person but she had to respect him as an agent.

And two-she liked Christopher Duncan Redfield WAY too much. God. He couldn't die. He couldn't die. He was so WRONG for her. In every way he was wrong. He was too big, too much of a smart ass, too….hairy? Well maybe not hairy. But he wasn't right. If her parents were alive she wondered what they'd say if she brought him home to meet them. Her father would likely have a heart attack and it had nothing to do with the fact Chris was white. Her mother had been white. First off, Chris was AMERICAN which was almost a dirty word in her household growing up. But most importantly she had a sneaking suspicion he was the worst of all things…a republican! And that just would not have been borne in her house.

The idea of it made her laugh a little as she cleaned her gun at the table.

Her eyes wandered to the sleeping man in question. He was naked, his groin covered by a loose knit afghan one of the towns women had provided. She hadn't peeked. She'd thought about it but she hadn't done it. She didn't yet know if all that muscle was compensating for something else.

His shoulder was heavily bandaged. The fishing village had a medicine man who'd looked him over, given him a poultice, and sewn the wound as much as possible. He'd warned that Chris, should he awake at all, might not ever again have full use of his left. The wound, one big gash from the back of his shoulder to the middle of his left bicep and just a little over his upper left pectoral muscle, was deep and may have done irreversible muscle damage. It would scar, though she knew he wouldn't care about something as trivial as that.

As he slept, seemingly peacefully, she watched the rise and fall of his stomach muscles. What did they call that? A six pack? It was flat and muscled even in supreme relaxation. She remembered, as she watched him, the first time she'd seen him.

The meeting at the BSAA hadn't been the first time they'd spoken but not the first time she'd been in his presence.

……………………………………………………………………………….

Six years previous in Cairo, she'd been 17 and learning the ropes from Josh. Just having come in, wet behind the ears, and eager as all hell to get her revenge. She'd just come off a training session that had left her sweaty and elated from exertion.

The sand of the Egyptian desert was gritty in her eyes as she'd crossed to the basin set up outside the main tent the BSAA had been using as a focal point for their operations.

Three women were gathered around talking as she rinsed her face in the water. A blonde, a ponytailed brunette and one of BSAAs CO's Lydia Welsh.

She would later discover the blue eyed brunette was Jill Valentine.

"Seriously…I don't know how you stay in such fantastic shape. Your ass could open a beer bottle." Said the blonde.

Jill laughed quietly and took a sip of water.

Sheva tried not to eavesdrop but some things are just meant to be overheard.

"Pilates." Joked Jill, making Lydia and the blonde laugh delightedly.

At that moment, a Hum V rolled up a few yards away, filthy and loud. Two soldiers alighted cracking jokes and laughing as they removed their helmets. The third man emerged from the passenger side laughing at something they'd said. He was garbed in traditional desert black and tan wearing sunglasses that shielded what she now knew were amazing blue eyes.

He turned and laughing, the sunlight caught his face. It was the first moment she laid eyes on Chris Redfield. At 17, her hormones revved in appreciation. He had the whitest smile she'd ever seen.

The blonde whistled. "Damn. Tell me Jill, please tell me, you hit that."

Jill had to laugh out loud. "Do we talk like that now? Do we say "hit that"?"

Lydia snickered. "Don't change the subject. You hit that?"

Jill rolled her eyes. "No. I've never slept with Chris. Never even thought about it. Not that its any of you bitches business."

Lydia sighed. "I wish I could. Don't think I haven't tried. But Redfield isn't interested. I thought maybe he was holding a torch for you."

Jill shook her head and lifted a hand to wave as Chris spotted her and started over. "Nope. Not like that at all. He's sorta like my brother."

The blonde smirked. "If he was my brother, then there'd be incest in my family tree."

Jill laughed loudly as replied, "Disturbing. And wrong in about twelve different ways."

Sheva, feeling she'd probably over stayed her time, quickly finished drying her face and turned to move away. In her hurry, she knocked the basin over. It splashed water all over her and flopped sand up as it landed with a thunk on the ground.

Embarrassed, she bent to retrieve it amidst the rather rude snickering of her CO and the blonde.

Their hands met on the basin. His were gloved, hers bare, but she felt the warmth straight to her bones. Her hormonal 17 year old self did a little happy dance as she looked into his sunglasses.

The smile on his face was gentle. "You okay there?"

"Yes." He took her elbow as she rose, holding the basin. "I'm fine, thanks. No cure for clumsy."

She caught a glimpse of Jill's interested face over his shoulder as they rose.

Chris brushed the wet sand off one of her arms. "My sister is constantly tripping on her own two feet. Don't sweat it. Anybody gives you a hard time, you come find me."

And then the sunglasses went up and one of those amazing blue eyes winked at her. For just a moment, her heart skipped.

And then he was moving passed her. She stood rooted there for a moment, waiting for the flush in her face to die down, one eye watching the interested look on Jill's face turn into amusement. Clearly she'd seen the flush.

And Sheva, embarrassed as only a teenager can be, fled quickly back toward her tent.

But she never forgot him. She couldn't. And she'd be a liar if she didn't admit that every time she went on a mission or ran into Jill Valentine again she was secretly hoping to grab just another little glimpse of him.

…………………………………………………………………………………

He stirred as she came back into the present, pulled from her daydream.

Sheva moved to his side, hoping he might be rising from his endless slumber. Hoping he'd show her those amazing blue eyes.

God, if she'd known then the kind of man he was. The intelligence and humor and wit that hid behind that amazing body, she might not have run. Of course she knew also that he was a man of honor. His bio put him at 35 now. Six years ago, he wouldn't have even looked at a skinny kid like her. Or worse, he'd have seen her like his sister.

She brushed a hand over his brow, feeling the dew of sweat there. So far, they'd been lucky. Fever hadn't set in. But in the three days they'd been in the village, he hadn't awoken either.

Sheva had hooked up an IV to him to keep him hydrated but the small supply they'd been given by Tricell was running low. It had been meant as a temporary live saving measure in the wake of emergency when help was on the way. Help wasn't on the way. Their communications with HQ were down. Kennedy was out at the current time trying to find some way to make contact.

Chris groaned, eyelashes fluttering.

"Chris?" Sheva gently patted his cheek, "Chris can you hear me?"

It sounded like ear me. He woke up, slowly, to someone with an accent saying "ear me." What did ear me mean? Was it like do me? Because he was okay with that after the filthy dreams he'd been having, ear me, do me, it all sounded good.

She was above him, gently touching his face when he opened his eyes. And she looked better then the filthy dreams he'd been having about her.

If he wasn't vaguely aware of his breath likely smelling like swamp ass he would have kissed her then. God he wanted to kiss her. Because she was beautiful, because he was ALIVE.

His whole body hurt. And he had never been happier about it.

"Chris…god…"She touched his face gently.

"Chris. God. I won't curse myself by implying those are one in the same." If he could joke, maybe he wasn't going to die after all.

Sheva laughed quietly and leaned down, laying her head on the uninjured side of his chest. The wetness of her tears stole the next smart ass comment right out of his mouth.

It wasn't "do me", he mused as he cupped the side of her face and just held on while she cried silently against him, but in that moment… it was just as good.

…….

It took him several more days of sleeping and light eating to regain his strength.

To the surprise of the medicine man, Rico, and his companions, he seemed to have regained a lot of the use of his arm in that time as well. He attributed it to good genes and a massive amount of physical training.

He wasn't a hundred percent yet but he was good enough to continue the mission.

On the seventh day of his resting, he came outside of the hut to find Sheva and Kennedy speaking quietly while he cleaned his weapons.

The village behind them was teeming with daily life and activity.

Las Rojos Muerte, of The Red Death in English, was a bit of a bigger metropolis then Gisan had been. There was still evidence of poverty in the sagging roof tops and lumpy dirt roads but some level of commerce had been attempted on top of the oppression of the poor. People wore actual blue jeans and store bought clothing, shops consisted of actual imported merchandise from larger distributers and the children here weren't emaciated from hunger. The fact that Las Rojos was a fishing village allowed it the ability to import and export up and down the river with other villages. It also offered a means of trade and influx of business to stimulate the economic growth of the village.

Several women carrying water from the river for sanitation stopped to giggle and speak rapidly in Spanish as he walked down the steps of the hut, strapping on his sidearm as he moved.

Kennedy saw him first as he approached and lifted a curious set of eyebrows in surprise.

Sheva had her back to Chris and was kneeling beside Leon, speaking earnestly. She touched the other man's knee as she spoke. Chris tried not to let the little niggling head of jealousy rear at the nearness of them. There was also a comfortable companion vibe flowing between the two that he didn't like at all.

"We should get moving."

Sheva turned in surprise as he spoke. "You should be resting."

"I've rested enough. We have a mission. I've held it up for days. I'm sorry about that but I'm ready to get moving now."

Sheva's face was all kinds of Claire: Pissed off and about to explode on him.

Kennedy saved her the trouble. "Redfield, we're not going anywhere. You aren't ready. Hell, you're still a little gimpy on that side and you smell like shit man. I'm not trekking through the jungle with you until you at least take a bath."

Well that was embarrassing. Maybe he was a little…ripe but he'd at least made sure to religiously scrub his fucking teeth.

"I don't need a god damn bath. I need to find Sherry Birkin. Or have you forgotten that she's being held prisoner? Maybe fucking dead. And you two sit there playing footsies and laughing behind my back at me."

Kennedy's face closed down, cold. "I care more about that girl then you will ever understand. Don't you _dare _imply that I'm not doing everything I can, every fucking minute of every day to find her." He rose and Chris, feeling like a dick, just stood there. "And I stand by what I said. You smell like shit. Appropriate really…since you're being a complete asshole."

Well…that pretty much said it. He had to appreciate the cleverness of that statement.

Chris stood rooted as the other man passed him and didn't miss the fact that he brushed his bad arm as he went, causing Chris to hiss in pain…and there by prove the guys point even more. Smart, was Leon Kennedy.

Sheva hadn't said a word. Slowly, she rose and started off into the trees.

"What?" He couldn't help it. He was just being a bastard. "Not going to ream my ass too?"

"The hot spring is this way. The one we use to bathe." Sheva replied steadily. "Use it or don't."

He trekked after her, fuming. What was wrong with him? Why was he being such a dick?

They walked in silence, Chris several paces behind for about five minutes before they came upon the hot spring. It was nestled in a grove of trees. The spot was an oasis, a little piece of heaven in the hell that was this jungle. Tropical plants grew in shades of purple, pink and orange, causing the bubbling beauty of the spring to seem almost ethereal in nature. Sunlight spilled hot and bright upon the frothy water glistening in diamond like patches where the water ran still.

He paused a moment to appreciate it. It never failed to humble him, the simplistic beauty of nature. It seemed like, in the middle of the madness, you forgot how lovely the world could be.

Sheva gestured with an arm. "Bathe. Don't. I could care less. I'll go round up some food for you."

He caught her arm as she moved passed him. "I'm sorry." She didn't look at him as he said it.

"Sheva." Now she looked at him. "I'm sorry." He reiterated, stronger. "I'm grouchy when I'm wounded."

_I'm grouchy when I'm jealous. When I'm horny and hurt and jealous as fuck._

She watched his face for a moment, pursed her lips, and nodded. "Alright. Take your time. I'll come back when the food is ready."

She walked on and Chris sighed. She was still pissed. He knew enough about women to know that.

He couldn't blame her. First he'd played the hero, nearly gotten killed, let her nurse him back to health like some invalid and then he'd had the nerve to blow up on her like some stupid jealous teenager. He was an ungrateful wretch. He'd still be pissed too.

Chris undressed slowly, frowning when his arm protested the removal of clothing. The range of motion in it was good, great actually considering the length of time he'd had to recover but the wound was still tender as hell to the touch. Rico had put nearly twenty stitches in the damn thing to keep it sewn shut.

He glanced at the skin as he waded into the water. It would be a beauty of a scar when it healed. Not that it mattered. Just another one to add to the mix.

The water was warm and inviting, lulling him deeper into its embrace. God, he'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to bathe.

He did so now with relish, using the crude bar of soap he found sitting on a rock out cropping to scrub the filth and sickness from his flesh. It was amazing the amount of shit that could get matted in the hair of a guy's chest in a week and a half.

He scrubbed his hair hard, getting out the sweat and stink of blood. The water around him was tinged a little pink when he finished and dived under the surface to completely submerge himself.

Beneath the water, he relaxed, floating in the warmth and letting the tension slide away out of him on a sigh.

He knew what was wrong with him. He hadn't had a woman in so long that he was dying from it. Almost dying, that was nothing. He did that all the time. But he hadn't gotten laid since…

….

…….

…………..jesus he couldn't even remember when.

It had been a few months that was for sure. Hell maybe even a year or more.

Chris figured the last time had been that friend of Claire's from Terra-Save. The blonde with the red lips and the ex-husband with all the money.

They'd met at some benefit Claire was hosting. She'd been wearing some Zac Posen number in black and reeked of expensive perfume. She'd also made it very clear what she wanted from him.

They'd rolled in the hay a few times. The first time in her ex-husband's Maserati. She'd been nothing to him. An easy lay. A good time. When she'd tried to turn him into her boy toy, he'd cut it off. For a few months after that, she'd stalked him. Phone calls, texts, emails about missing him. He'd blown that off too. He hadn't loved her, didn't even really like her. And that's the way he preferred it.

But Sheva…she was different. He respected her. Hell, he liked just about everything about her in a way that had nothing to do with sex. She was gutsy and clever. She was strong and…she'd cried on him. She'd cried on his chest. She cared about him. And he couldn't remember the last time that scared him so much.

Chris broke free of the water, wading toward the shore. It was time, he supposed, to go back and face the music. He owed Kennedy an apology of the worst kind…galling but he could admit when he was wrong.

It wasn't planned. Nope. But there she was.

She was standing ten paces away on the bank of the water, watching him sweep the water off his skin. She looked a bit like a deer caught in the headlights with a towel clutched to her chest.

He supposed it was something to see. What with all his scars. He was extremely conscious of the state of his arousal so plainly evident but its not like he could cover himself up.

"I…"She held the towel out uselessly after a few long moments of awkward silence. "Cold…thought…you…."

Her cheeks were red. Christ he was embarrassing the hell out of her.

Sorry for it, he reached out for the towel and started to wrap it around himself.

"Thanks…I shoulda thought to get one before we came out here.." He started to tuck in the corner of the towel at his hip, "Warm out here though so I would have just dried in the...." He was rambling but there wasn't much he could do about it. "..sun. Thought about tanning too while I was at it. Get some color on my white ass, ya know? Claire's always telling me I look like a ghost with albinism. Though I think she's just jealous because she has the curse of the red headed freckles and looks like spoiled milk-"

Her fingers pulled the towel from his hands and caught him off in mid sentence from the shock of it. She jerked it forward, pulling it free of his body at the same time she brought him against her.

His stomach dropped down to his knees, his body reacted like a thrown switch and he knew…knew…that everything between them was about to change.

'


	6. Chapter 6

_So we find our heroes are immensely attracted. Dangerously so. But with understanding. Naturally these pixilated gorgeous people only exist in fiction but alas…who would not be tempted to have a taste? _

_Here they will allow themselves perhaps a little nibble. Nothing trashy of course but enough to know that Chris Redfield is a man, Sheva Alomar a woman, and both embroiled in a love affair of surely dire straights. _

_The action shall return upon the conclusion of this little tryst._

_And we shall say, just for the record, shame on you Chris, you really are too old for her._

**CHAPTER 6: Plot building…Capcom Style.**

He wasn't an idiot; he knew what to do next. He went with the move, hands gripping under her arms pits to lift her clear off the ground and slam her against him. His arm protested in pain but he ignored it. Her legs wrapped around him like a monkey, eerily reminiscent of their trek through the water away from the monster but this time…god…she was facing him.

He didn't think, couldn't, her clothed body ground against his erection and he lost his damn mind. Chris shoved her against a tree, felt her back slam against it, slid his hands up into her hair and kissed her.

Having her ratcheted around his body put their faces even. It made the wetness, deepness, hardness of the kiss that much more potent. She reveled in the scratchiness of his budding beard and he the softness of her skin, the taste of her mouth like ambrosia.

Chris panted, Sheva moaned as the kiss became kisses that moved over her neck as his hands tried to find her flesh beneath shirt and Kevlar vest. Her blood fired so fast and hard she was light headed from it. She'd never known attraction like this. It was a boiling, bursting, blood raging madness that seemed to drive her from sanity to rage and back again.

They parted enough for him to put his hands on her belt and whip the tongue of leather free, deftly opening the clasp. He had to take her. Know her. Feel her. More of her. Had to. He'd die if he couldn't.

"Stop." She whispered it. He didn't hear it.

He caught the zipper of her pants and tugged, showing silky pink satin beneath. Jesus. The sexiness of that alone nearly made him burst right there.

They kissed again, wet and deep. Her resolve started crumbling with each dive of his tongue into her mouth, each answer of her own.

Chris speared a hand into the opening of her pants, fingers sliding over pink satin.

She gasped with pleasure, with surprise as their mouths parted again. "Chris…we have to stop…" It was whispered. She had to stop it. She had to.

He took her mouth again, fast and deep. The bark of tree ground her back. His hand cupped her, fingers pressing over the apex of her body.

It was her last chance to stop it. Her body was screaming to let him do it. Let him do _her. _She'd never wanted anything more.

Which is why she nearly shouted it this time. "Chris! We have to stop!"

The desperation in her voice reached him this time. He stopped. Bleary eyed, he looked at her. Her face was flushed from passion and his scruffy skin. Her eyes alight with as much desire as he felt and something else…an edge of fear.

The fear shut down every bit of passion he felt. It stopped him cold and drew his hand free from her pants.

Ashamed that he'd caused a woman too look at him like that, he backed away, pulling the towel from the ground and jerking it around him.

"I'm sorry."

"Chris..wait..let me explain…"

"No. Don't. No need. I took advantage of you. I'm sorry about it." He turned, drove his fingers through his hair and winced as his arm protested the move.

"No…it wasn't like that. It was me…I wanted it. Chris…I'm not…I've never-"

"It's okay." He cut her off, started back toward the village. "I was hurt. You felt sorry for me. Don't apologize. There's no need. Let's just leave it."

She'd been afraid of him. Jesus. Afraid. Did she think he'd rape her? He would _never. _Hadn't she been kissing him? Touching him back? Or had he imagined all of it? Could he be that stupid?

Appalled, he cut her off when she attempted to speak again.

"Let's go back. Let's…move out. We've got a lot of ground to make up. Let's just forget this ever happened, okay?"

Hurt beyond words, she stopped trying to explain herself. "Alright." Maybe she sounded colder then she meant to but he'd hurt by suggesting they forget everything. Maybe he wasn't as into her as she was to him. Maybe it hadn't meant a damn thing to him. The idea of it had her brushing passed him to walk back to the village, her stoic demeanor in place. "Consider it forgotten. I'll tell Kennedy to gear up. We'll move out when you're ready."

That hurt. A verbal slap in the fucking face. Well he deserved it, didn't he? For forcing himself on her like some hopped up horn dog. What kind of bastard tried to finger a girl while she clearly was saying no? But that was the thing…hadn't her body been saying yes?

Oh wait. OH WAIT. That was like the biggest excuse ever made by every rapist in the world. Her eyes said no but he body said YES. Nice Redfield…good one. You just threw yourself into the pervert circle with all the other sexual offenders.

But…damnit…he _knew _she'd been kissing him back. Every time he'd kissed her, touched her, she'd done the same to him. He wasn't that fucking crazy.

He dressed with a vengeance, slapping his clothes on like a pissed off prom date. Sheva was long gone, having fled from his presence like a fat kid from tofu. He stewed and felt sorry for himself in equal turns as he made his way back to the village.

Kennedy and Sheva were in conversation as he came up the path. She looked composed and calm which irked him. And Kennedy, curse his preppy ass, looked smug and handsome.

He wanted to punch Kennedy in the face and shake Sheva until she looked as pissed as he felt inside.

He wasn't wrong damn it. She'd wanted him but apparently it had been as hot and as short lived as his bath had been. He still ached for her, damn her eyes.

Out loud, he said, "Ready? We can still try to get to the first rendezvous point by sundown."

Kennedy tilted his head to the side, rather like a curious dog. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Chris shifted his feet, picked his nicely cleaned shotgun up off the ground and looped it over his back. "You clean this?"

Leon nodded. "Yep. It was soaked in blood."

Chris held out his hand and had the other man looking surprised.

They shook.

"Thanks. I owe you. First for Claire all those years ago in Raccoon. Now for myself. I was wrong with what I said before. I got no excuses. I'm sorry as hell about it."

Leon Kennedy was generally not a man taken by surprise easily. Hell, with all the things he'd seen since Raccoon City, very little shocked him. But Chris Redfield, ex-STARS, current BSAA bad ass, and all around arrogant ass, offering him apology? That was something to marvel at.

"No biggie. Not like there was much else to do in this burg. The night life is a little dead around here." And still some things about the wet behind the ears rookie cop of ten years prior remained the same. He still said things sometimes that were…well…unintentionally punny. Cheesy one liners seemed to be something he had the market on.

Chris's mouth twitched. The kid, what was Kennedy now actually…32?, had a way with words that never failed to make Chris smirk.

Kennedy laughed which had Sheva looking shocked and amazed.

She was looking at him with more then a little distrust and curiosity. Clearly, she'd never seen him bong beer to the cheers of curious onlookers. If she had, she wouldn't be marveling over his change in attitude.

Chris, meanwhile, had borne witness to this historic event. As well as having witness the hula hooping and the subsequent vomiting that had followed. Therefore, he wasn't in the least inclined to look so reverently upon the other man.

And so our heroes continued their harrowing journey through the endless quagmire of our fictitious jungle desperately hoping to uncover a clue of Scooby Doo (or shall we use the reference of Sherlock Holmes instead?) proportions that would lead them to the spawn of the long dead genius William Birkin. Although, Chris mused, could one who injected themselves with a deadly virus to keep it from the hands of others really be considered a genius?

He supposed mad scientists were called mad for a reason after all.

After seemingly endless hours of tromping through forgotten foliage in this forsaken wasteland, our trio of hapless protagonists happened upon a body lying face down in the middle of a ditch. To the outside observer, this would be what is known as an obvious plot point. Clearly this sad corpse died to offer our hero and his companions a new path for our rambling tale.

A Tricell bag lay half overturned in the dirt beside him. Blood, dry now from days of blaring heat, had made a tacky mess of the sodden trail around him. Miscellaneous items were spread as if by rushed hands amongst the grass.

Chris drew his sidearm, carefully scanning trees with his comrades as they carefully approached the dead man. No fool, Chris's back began to itch with the obviousness of it all.

Leon was kneeling beside the cool body, using his gloved hands to gingerly pick through the man's belongings. Sheva meanwhile remained on guard with Chris, scanning the sky as Chris kept his eyes on ground level.

"Huh." Leon said quietly, "He's got vaccine samples in here untouched for the T-Virus and a loaded nine millimeter. Somebody wasn't after him for the obvious reasons."

And this was the moment when Chris felt it was necessary to say, "Find his journal."

"What?" Queried Sheva, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"His journal." Chris stated. "He'll have one. They _always _have one."

And it was true. People associated with Umbrella always had some kind of written documentation that cleanly and neatly tied together all plot holes or missing information associated with whatever dastardly plans their evil masterminds had sent them out to perform. It was always almost tied up with a bow, handed over in the most convenient way possible as if the great narrator of the universe said, "Okay, we need to seal the deal and let the world know who, what, when, where and why." And, as we all know, these are all questions that must be answered in any tale to make it complete.

Leon, having dealt with Umbrella plenty of times before, nodded sagely. "He will. A letter. A mission statement. Something."

And so our dead filler character indeed did have some such document upon his expired person neatly tucked into the back pocket his pants.

Leon drew it free and read it aloud.

It looked something like this:

_From the desk of Desmond Ortiz, VP of International Production, Tricell Exotics Division. _

_Dear ,_

_Contrary to popular belief, foreign investors have begun to doubt the proficiency of the X-Series. Testing, upon subjects S.B. and B.C. proved promising, but lacked the appropriate data for further analysis of the virus. _

_Proper cloning and genetic engineering netted only a handful of successful results. Those who passed initial trial runs showed response and reactions sorely lacking in human equivalent intelligence. One proved it couldn't even find its way out of a completely unlocked room._

_Subsequent testing proved that I.Q. ranges for subjects S.B. and B.C. were below necessary levels for proper cloning and genetic modification. None of the clones would be passable as sufficient supplants for their actual human counterparts. _

_Foreign investors require immediate and greater results or have threatened to pull funding for further experimentation. Thus, new subjects with higher I.Q. are required. _

_You are charged with procuring reasonable subjects in their stead. Following is a detailed list of requested names. Please see that these subjects are obtained and brought to the lab for further testing._

_Failure to do so will result in immediate dismissal and further action._

_Sincerely, _

_Desmond Ortiz_

The letter was a stand alone. The following list of names pointedly missing.

Chris lifted a brow as Leon finished reading.

"Subjects S.B. and B.C.?"

Leon shrugged. "Cloning? You can't be serious."

Sheva was rifling the dead man's things trying to find more clues. "Where's the lab? And if he was sent in to procure subjects, why is he dead in the middle of the road?"

Chris surmised these were decent questions, if a bit obvious, and would likely be answered somewhere in the near future. Likely in a fashion that wasn't at all enjoyable.

"Somebody wanted the list of names. They didn't give a shit about the T-Virus vaccine or his weapon, his ID or the letter telling the world what Tricells VP of the exotics division is up to. So there's somebody on that list that's super important." Chris glanced at the man as Sheva rose. "Poor sap. It's always the underlings that die first."

Leon nodded. "He probably thought he was doing something great for man kind. When he was just helping some corrupt, corporate vampire create a weapon of mass destruction."

"They always do." Sheva intoned quietly, thinking of parents death at the hands of their devious employers.

"Hey…"Leon moved off through the woods for a moment, glancing at the ground. His eyes followed a set of vague, smudged boot imprints in the dirt. It wasn't until he saw the handkerchief neatly tied around a tree limb that he paused. The handkerchief had a pretty set of lips imprinted on it in bright pink. A nice…big…kiss mark. "I'll be a monkey's uncle…" He muttered under his breath.

Chris glanced at the dead guy and then down the road in the direction he'd been heading.

"Okay." He turned and met Leon's eyes. "Now we reach an obvious point. This guy was headed somewhere when he was attacked and murdered. So do we follow the path he went…"

Leon didn't let him finish. He lifted a hand. "You two go on down the road. Keep looking for the lab and Sherry. I've got to go this way."

Sheva looked surprised. "Our mission was to find you and get you to the rendezvous point. You can't leave us."

Leon smiled gently at her and met Chris's eyes. "I'm breaking protocol. I'm not going with you." His eyes went back to the damned lipsticked handkerchief. "It's a long story but I'm going to need you to trust me to do my job. I'm going after Vale's killer."

Chris nodded. He didn't know what was playing behind the other man's eyes but he understood that the bit of cloth in the far tree meant something more to him then it did to them. And he trusted Leon enough to know what he was doing. After all, he'd been a one man show before.

Sheva, meanwhile, didn't know any of this. "You know who killed Vale?"

Leon gave her a level, empty look. "I have my suspicions. I'll handle it. You two get to the rendezvous point, check in with HQ, let them know I'm alright and chasing down more leads. I'll track the killer and try to meet you at the next check point."

Chris nodded, gesturing with his head for Leon to go on. "Hopefully one of these directions houses answers."

Leon replied, "And Sherry."

And Wesker, thought Chris. Because he just knew this was part of the game. Vale's death. The letter. The deliberate separation of allies. It was all part of the master plan. Wesker rarely left any stone unturned. But none of them had any choice but to play along at this point. Too much of the puzzle had yet to fall into place.

"Be careful." Sheva stated. And Chris had to respect her again. She had no clue what undercurrents were passing between the other two but she was wise enough to let it remain unspoken.

Leon winked at her. "Careful as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

And there it was again. One of those awful one liners. Chris had to smirk.

With that badly delivered figure of speech, Leon Kennedy was off, following the trail of bread crumbs left so conveniently in his path.

And so Sheva and Chris were once again alone. And the awkward silence that followed Leon's departure was ripe with things unsaid, sexual tension, unfortunate regret and a very pregnant sense of purpose.

Sheva had stolen the rest of Vale's pack, slipping it onto her back to take with them. "Shall we?"

Chris nodded briefly. "The map in our briefing put that fishing village not far from all those abandoned coal mines. What do you think the odds are that somewhere in those coal mines a secret underground lab exists?"

Sheva smirked a little. "Fifty-fifty?"

Chris laughed and it felt good. Really good. To laugh with her again.

God surely they could overcome their weirdness and get back to some level of human interaction again. He didn't think they'd make it if they had to be awkward around each other forever.

"Shall we check it out?" He queried, tilting his head and bobbling his brows at her.

Sheva smiled again. "Why not? I _was_ going to work on my tan today but I guess it can wait."

"Niiiiiice," Chris chuckled as they started down the path again, "Sarcastic and still dorky. This is a good combo."

Sheva lightly slapped his arm as they walked. "Hey, after the last few days…dorky sounds pretty good."

He wasn't going to argue with that. Not in the slightest. In fact, he was pretty sure that by the time they hit the rendezvous, checked in, and got to the mines to likely uncover deception, destruction, evil machinations of global proportions, criminal masterminds with megalomania and delusions of grandeur, man made monsters of mythical construction, and mindless mutants bent of eating flesh to survive, he'd be missing dorky big time.

'


	7. Chapter 7

_And here we shall find a familiar face gracing our pages._

_A little note: I felt it needed to be stated that obviousness of Capcom's plot stitching. The journals, for one, are always amusing to me. It seems, no matter how busy, bad guys always have time to write down just how bad they are. Bless their hearts, they keep us from missing out on plot holes._

_We shall more deeply delve into the action and reaction of heroes and villains. Likely, Chris and Wesker are going to have one nasty stand off here soon. And Leon Kennedy will be following that lipsticked handkerchief straight through to a meeting of long overdue proportions. _

_Sheva, meanwhile, will perhaps surprise us all with a dirty little secret in chapters to come. Bwahaha._

**CHAPTER 7: A fun filled jaunt down memory lane**

In typical zombie games, this point in the story would be where our hero wanders into a wasteland of the undead, is forced to make a perilous, life altering decision, and makes a stand worthy of Bogart at the end of _Casablanca. _But alas, this point in our story has already occurred.

So, consequently, our injured hero and his lovely maiden found themselves at the edge of a town devoid of any sign of life…or undeath.

The abandoned coal miners town was just what the name implied: abandoned. There wasn't so much as a left over pick axe around to signify that life had ever existed in the decrepit cesspool of emptiness, save for the constructed stairwell leading down into musty darkness.

Sheva stood looking down into the darkness, one well plucked brow lifted in curiosity. "The map implied mines right? Meaning…more then one?"

"Yup." Chris sighed greatly, glancing around at the terrain. A hole in the ground with a wooden stairway hardly signified "mines".

"This is…"

"…a trap?" He finished when Sheva let the statement trail.

"Yes." And yet they both knew they'd be heading down into the trap. They had to. The only answers they knew were down those steps. They had to go down them. Trap or no trap.

"We could go back." She suggested, "Wait for back up."

"Yeah." Chris smiled at her. "But we won't."

"Nope." Sheva hefted her pack around and dug down to find the flash light she always carried with her. "So down into the abyss?"

"Come into my lair said the spider to the fly…" Chris hefted the shotgun. "I'll go first, you follow with the light and point it where I need to shoot."

"Sounds like a plan."

The stairs creaked in protest as they descended, the light of the world fading as if an eclipse had come and obliterated the sun in a single space of seconds. The darkness rose up and surrounded them, taking away pieces of hope as it did and leaving a feeling of claustrophobia and fear in its wake.

Chris was surprised the fear came as fast as it did. His mind latched onto memories of the Spencer Estate, of dank hallways and hidden passages, of the cell where he'd been trapped for hours awaiting his own death before Jill had saved him. It flashed to Rockfort Island, the hunters that had chased him through that god forsaken facility, into the darkness and the fear.

A hand touched his arm. The flashlight turned to illuminate his face. And it was only after that gentle touch happened that he realized someone in the dark had been breathing too quick, too light. It was him. He was panicking and it was all mental.

He knew better damnit. He knew there was nothing to fear in the dark. Shit. Logic told him there was nothing to fear in the dark.

But his body. His brain. His heart…they knew otherwise.

He'd faced the dark and survived. He'd looked into the gaping maw of man's own corruption and tasted his death and knew the dark lied, it bred, it bled madness and greed and horror. There were things in the dark that no man should ever have to face. Children had irrational fears of the dark. But maybe, just maybe, their fears weren't irrational at all.

"Chris." Her voice echoed in the darkness.

"A minute." He answered, making a conscious effort now to slow his breathe and focus. "Just a minute."

"Alright." Her eyes were golden brown in the glow of the flash light. Brown and calm and real. There were good things in the dark as well.

He nodded. "Okay." And turned to face the dark.

The mines smelled rank; stinking of mold and mildew and the carcasses of long dead animals that had fled to the darkness for respite from the beating sun over head. They passed more then a few wild boar, some gutted, upon the ground as they walked. The walls dripped and ran with moisture the farther down they trekked, implying that they were now somewhere beneath the rushing river they'd fled across before.

It was dangerous to go down into these mines. They were held up by man made supports that looked ill built and rotting. The wood supports had long since been attacked by termites and wood rot and were starting to bow under the pressure of the earth above them.

The tunnels narrowed as they move, leaving little room to do more then hunch down and duck beneath outcroppings of rock and root from above to avoid taking a smash to the noggin. Finally they reached a T intersection and Chris paused to pop his neck and consider their plan of action.

"So…"

"The proverbial crossroads." Sheva added to his drawling phrase. "Which way to go?"

"Or do we split up?" He glanced at her. She didn't look happy at the thought. He wasn't either, to tell the truth. His arm hurt like a bad tooth at the moment from hefting the shotgun at the ready for the last mile of their journey. He didn't want to go anywhere alone in the fucking dark.

"I think we should stay together." Sheva glanced at his face. "You might get yourself hurt if I leave you alone again. I've seen your pay check, you don't make enough money to afford my care twice."

A joke.

He glanced at her, grinning. And said it before he meant to, "I bet I could find a way to take it out in trade."

Chris would have taken it back if he could. It was a joke. But they weren't really in a place where a sex joke was really appropr—

She could have gone around him. She had room. But she brushed full on against the front of his body as she passed him and then started toward the left tunnel.

He was frozen in .

Well.

…well. That was something. It wasn't a smart retort but as comebacks went, it was just as good.

He started to follow her when an enormous boom sounded followed by the first of a series of rumbles. It was a bit like the sound of an earthquake just before it becomes massive in nature.

Chris turned in slow motion; the shotgun lifting of its own accord as down the tunnel behind them, the mad rush of water came. Someone had been following them, closely enough to set off a charge and destroy the path they'd taken to get into the mines.

Sheva was already halfway down the left tunnel; Chris would never reach her in time. And the water was going to be faster then them both.

"Chris!" Her voice was tiny over the sound of rapidly rushing water.

He didn't have time to run, he braced and shouted. "Swim with the tide! Try to avoid the ceil-"

And the water hit him. It stole his breath and cut off his ability to do anything but survive. He couldn't direct himself, couldn't do anything but hold on to his weapons and let the force of the massive water thrust him down the tunnels in whatever path it chose.

He was tossed, turned, flipped over and around and shoved through the freezing wetness with such force that he figured if he hit the wall or the ceiling at this speed, he was toast.

Chris was an agile enough swimmer. He'd been born and raised on the East Coast and spent a great portion of his summers swimming in the Chesapeake Bay with his Grandparents and Claire. But no amount of training could prepare you to fight the entire rush of a redirected river.

Just when his air seemed to be completely depleted, he surfaced enough to draw a desperate series of breaths before he was tossed beneath the rush again, praying that somewhere, Sheva was doing the same.

The water rushed him down the tunnel and spilled him over a rocky crevice. He plummeted, arms pin wheeling as he was airborne for a handful of seconds before he hit the surface of the water again and there he stopped, surfacing beneath the spill of a man made waterfall. The mines were now full of water, rapidly filling; the pit he was currently bobbling in would soon be filled completely, leaving him no exit, no hope, and no air.

He swam to the side of the pit, looping the shotgun over his back as his hands sought the rocky face of the wall, looking for purchase to start climbing. About a hundred feet up, a bridge waited, spanning the pit filled with water and leading deeper into the mines.

It was really his only hope at this juncture. Chris climbed slowly, his gloved hands slipping on the moisture thick, mossy stones as he moved. Gloved fingers wrapped around the edge of the rotting wood of the bridge and helped him boost himself onto semi-dry land. He stood, glancing back at the rushing water filling the pit beneath him.

Chris looked for Sheva, saw no sign of her. He tapped his headset, hoping the water hadn't damaged it beyond repair but it was silent, useless.

He figured he'd been swept down the opposite tunnel. He hoped Sheva was alive and well and finding her way on the other side.

Turning, he started down the bridge and deeper into the darkness. All he had was a penlight that he used as a brace beneath his handgun as he walked. The water was flowing too fast for him to linger and hope to see Sheva. He had a better chance of finding her if he moved on.

The tunnel was a little wider then its predecessor affording him room to stand up right as he walked and not worry about whacking his nugget on the ceiling. Shadows spilled around him as he moved, chased into the darkness by the promise of drowning if he lingered.

He came around a sharp bend in the tunnel and face to face with a swinging pick axe. The blade missed him by inches, the attacker having rushed the attack and hitting him on his good shoulder with the handle of the weapon. Surprise had saved his life.

Chris knocked the attacker's arms to the side and delivered a kick to his ass as he stumbled. Not a graceful response to violence but highly effective. It spilled the man to his knees on the craggy rock.

The gun came up, Chris leveling it on that greasy spill of dark hair. His finger hit the trigger and the infected freak yelled, "WAIT! DON'T SHOOT!"

Easing back in surprise, Chris realized the crouched thing wasn't a thing at all. It was a very dirty, very frightened girl.

Dark eyes shone brightly in the spill of his pen light.

"I thought you were one of them." She breathed, lifting a hand to block the light. "I thought you were one of those things."

The greasy hair had hints of brown in it. It took him a handful of moments to realize who he was staring down at. The face was older but the delicate bone structure remained the same as it had….a decade earlier.

"Rebecca?!"

Rebecca Chambers blinked in surprise, narrowing her eyes at the man above her. It the dark, she couldn't make out the face. He was huge though. Huge and scary. She stumbled a little as she stood, lifting the pick axe to protect her.

"Who are you?" She stumbled back from him, two steps. "Who sent you!? I won't do it! Do you understand? I told that bastard Wesker I wouldn't do it! And I won't! I killed three of your friends back there, you asshole! Three heavily armed men and little ol' me, offed them. I'll kill you too if you try to take me back there!"

"Rebecca!" The huge monster of a man said again and she saw his gun lower, the pen light bobbling. "It's me! It's Chris."

Chris? What kind of an idiot identified himself before he kidnapped or killed you? Obviously the guy wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box.

"I don't know a Chris, douche bag." And she swung the axe at his face.

Even in the semi-darkness, she saw the shock on his face. He had very, very blue eyes and a growth of stubble on his face. On his…face.

The face she recognized. Even as he caught the axe and jerked it clean out of her hands, she recognized the face. Shock hit her hard enough that combined with the fear, the fatigue, the hunger-it was too much. She fell to all fours and vomited on the dirty ground.

"Jesus." Chris bent down to help her stand when she'd finished. "What are you doing here?"

Rebecca wiped her mouth with the dirty sleeve of her shirt. "I could ask you the same thing."

Chris shook his head. "We'll talk later. Right now, we've got to get to higher ground."

Rebecca, no fool, had heard the water coming for some time. She nodded.

"Can you walk?" He queried, keeping a steadying hand on her arm.

"Yeah." She blinked when he pressed a handgun into her hands.

"Stay close, okay?" There'd be time, hopefully, for all the unanswered questions later. Right now, they had to move fast.

They moved back down the tunnel from which she'd come, Rebecca sticking to his side like glue. God, what was she doing here? How had she come to be here? Her earlier shouting told him that Wesker had something to do with it. But what had she refused to do for him?

Last he'd heard, she'd been in Europe working for WilPharma on a series of vaccines for the T-Virus. She'd given birth to a daughter eight months after Raccoon City, much to the surprise of everyone else and retired from the hunt to end Umbrella to help find a cure for those infected by their terrorism. He'd never heard who the father of the baby was and Rebecca had never said. But her daughter had to be at least ten now. And Rebecca had been living peacefully for a long time.

The tunnel finally offered light some twenty minutes later after they'd climbed up a series of ladders and found themselves at a type of camp, lit by a generator. The camp was abandoned, showing signs of recent use. A few can goods, a sleeping bag, and a first aid kit were discarded around a long dead fire.

Chris's eye found a pair of boots sticking out behind a tent a few yards away. He was guessing there was one of the three men Rebecca had "offed".

Rebecca sat down gratefully, pushing her hands through her dirty hair. Her pixie features remained the same, if a bit wiser and older. She was thin but not yet emaciated which told him she hadn't been starving long. She looked dirty, hurt, but not beaten which also told him she'd hadn't been broken yet either.

Chris dug through his pack and handed her a protein bar, watching her rip it open and eat it with gusto he had to admire.

"Rebecca, god. Why are you here?"

Her eyes found him and there was a flinching of pain in them that was more then physical.

"I was in Lisbon, working on a vaccine for the G-Virus. I got a call one night that B-" She met his eyes and he watched her struggle with the truth. "That a friend of mine was in trouble. That they were being held for ransom. The caller wanted all my files, all my research in exchange for their release. When I refused, they said they'd kill him. And then they'd kill my daughter."

She shifted, held his eyes. "Chris, I couldn't risk her. I couldn't."

He could see she desperately wanted him to believe her. And he did. He understood. He'd have done the same for Claire.

"I gathered all my information. I knew it was a trap. But I thought, better me then her, ya know? I sent Kylie to Barry and I went to the drop site. A tranq of some kind hit me in the back of the neck. And I woke up here. In these tunnels, in a cell." Her eyes shifted around. "I don't know how long I've been here. I can't gauge time here. I think it could be days. Maybe weeks. They told me they wanted me to help finish designing some kind of super virus. Using cell mutation data and strains of the G, T, and Los Plagas virus." Rebecca made his eyes squarely, waiting for judgment. "I refused. I told them they could shove it right up their asses."

She shivered and Chris knelt beside her, putting a hand on her arm in comfort.

"Then…Wesker came. God. He looks the same, hasn't aged a day. I remember sitting there thinking…jesus, he must be pushing fifty now if not there already. And he looks exactly the same." Their eyes met. "Except for those eyes. Evil. Fucking evil whatever he's done to himself. He was a sociopath before now…now he's just a monster."

She laid her head against Chris's shoulder. A familiar, sisterly gesture. "I was so scared. He said they had Kylie. Already had her. I knew he was lying. I'd sent her to Barry. To the BSAA. Wesker couldn't have her."

Chris wrapped his arm around her and drew her against him in a tight hug.

"Chris…he said…he said Barry was in his pocket. He said Barry had turned on us once, why not again? Didn't I realize that? Didn't I realize that Barry Burton could be bought?"

Chris took her face and brought it eye level with his. "Rebecca, he was lying. Barry can't be bought. Last time, in Raccoon City, he was blackmailed. He was scared for his family. He's got the US government behind him now, the whole of the BSAA worldwide. Wesker's got nothing on him. He was lying. He doesn't have Kylie."

Rebecca's eyes filled with tears. "I know you're right. I know it. But I was so afraid it was true. God help me, I agreed to do what he wanted."

Chris felt his blood run cold. Rebecca was a genius. William Birkin class genius without the mad scientist gene. With her working for him, Wesker would have had it made.

"He left. Told me he'd have me moved to the facility that evening to begin research. I panicked. I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't kill all those people. I thought I'd break out, find a way to stop him. I seduced the first guard and broke his nose when he tried to kiss me. Once I had his gun, I shot him. And I shot the other one before he made it out of the tent to find out what the commotion was. The third one disarmed me in a struggle but I escaped and cold cocked him with a rock…"

Fuck he was proud of her. In the dark, small scared and hurt, she'd still come out the victor over three men twice her size. He couldn't have been more impressed.

"I beat his face in…" He eyes moved to the boots a few yards away. "I beat his face in…god…" She put her face in her hands and cried. It was a broken, terrible sound that made Chris's heart ache.

Claire had cried like that, for weeks after Rockfort Island and the death of her friend Steve Burnside. She'd wept bitter tears on his shoulder that had strengthened his hate of Albert Wesker and everything he stood for to the point of becoming rage.

At Rebecca Chamber's tears, Chris's rage became something worse. A dark, terrible, burning darkness that turned from justice to vengeance. Once, he'd been after a reckoning now…now it was vengeance he was after.

And he would find it in Albert Wesker's blood.

'


	8. Chapter 8

_We enter now the madness and delight that will lead us to the beginning of a chain of events that will answer all our questions._

_You know which ones I mean: Why IS Chris wearing such a tight shirt? Who is Wesker holding hostage? Where is Sherry Birkin? What does Ada Wong have to do with it all? And yes…the most important question…Why IS Chris wearing such a tight shirt!?_

_Thanks to all my reviewers as always .You guys keep me writing. Although, without you, I'd still be writing…just not posting it._

……_._

**Chapter 8: Red, dead, and ready to rumble**

So, fair readers, our hero has found a long forgotten friend to share the perilous quest for vengeance that fills out heads with intrigue and excitement. Our story has taken an interesting turn, affording us a chance to wonder what has become of the other members of his band of merry men.

Chris Redfield, himself, was wondering such a thing as he and Rebecca Chambers continued their journey through the sagging, hopeless damp and dark of the coal mines. The mines were constructed in a fairly complicated manner, twisting and turning like a confounded serpent through the rock and the ruin of what once had been a profitable man made business hub.

A few miles into their trek, they discovered they'd backtracked…twice. And were, for a third time, moving through a series of serpentine, labyrinthine passages that contained Neanderthal type etchings along the walls.

Rebecca finally halted Chris with a touch upon his arm. "I'm sorry. I kept hoping we'd come across another dead guy somewhere between the camp and here. I didn't want to take the clothes off those assholes because of what they'd done to me. But I should have. Because this stuff I'm wearing is trashed. It smells like shit, it's itchy and filthy with old blood and grease. It shouldn't matter, based on our situation, but I can't seem to focus wearing it."

Chris was already digging through his pack.

"I should have thought of that before we got moving. Of course you'd want to wear something cleaner." He pulled one of his uniform tops from his bag and passed it to her.

"Thank you." She answered and smiled as he turned his back to allow her to change. "Considering you're about as big as the Hulk now, I was going to say this probably will be huge on me. But, judging by the one you're wearing, they must run small."

….

……..well. He kind of got the impression she was saying his shirt was too tight.

He glanced down at himself as he took off his kevlar and passed it to her to wear over the shirt.

The uniform top wasn't really flattering in color. It was typical issue BSAA, pea green in color with the emblem emblazoned across the chest. It was also made to fit snugly so that it could collect the sweat from his body and wick it off his skin.

It was soaked right now from his ride down the world's worst water slide and stuck to his body like a second skin. But usually, the shirt was a god send. Even if it did tend to make him look a bit like a hopped up roid freak.

Claire had often sat snorting at him as he geared up, remarking sarcastically that it was totally awesome to be able to borrow his clothes when she wanted…seeing as they wore the same size and all.

"Chris," Rebecca said, "I can't take your vest."

"Take it," He rolled his shoulders, content that the pain in his bad shoulder had settled into a mildly annoying ache. "You're so small and skinny; I'll just worry about you if you don't."

Rebecca laughed a little. "Okay I'm decent."

He turned and had to admit, she looked a lot better. She'd scraped her hair out of her face and tied it back with a piece of her broken shoe lace into a ponytail, revealing the soft delicacy of her features. The vest, huge of course, could be tightened to her size and showed the stick thin proportions that hadn't changed an ounce in ten years.

"You don't look so much like a drowned rat now."

She laughed. "That's good to know…you still do though."

"Awesome." He ran his gloved fingers through his damp hair. "I thought the wet, grungy look was in."

"Um…no. Sorta like parachute pants and mohawks went out in the eighties, the grunge look died with Cobain." Although, Rebecca admitted, there were worse things to see after living in the dark for so long then a buffed up, ripped out hottie in a tight wet shirt. Ten years ago, the budding, wet behind the ears, Special Tactics and Rescue Squad Chris Redfield had been pretty cute. He'd had a wit, a charm, and an eagle eye that had earned him both respect and a few school girl crushes from a lot of the females on the force. Including her, truth be told.

But the present Chris Redfield, built like a brick shit house, slightly scruffy, wiser, older, and still witty as hell likely made more then a few women do more then crush.

Rebecca wasn't interested of course. She'd crushed on Chris, sure, she'd been eighteen and starry eyed. But it had never been more then that. He and she hadn't really known each other that well before Raccoon City. Afterward, they'd stayed in touch briefly. He'd come to her daughter's birthday parties, sent Christmas cards, visited with Claire when they'd been in the same parts of the world. Although it had been years now since that had occurred.

But it had always been a brotherly thing with him. But even so, she could appreciate the man the boy had become.

"I guess I need to read more Cosmo and keep up on the fashion scene." Chris quipped, scanning the tunnel walls behind her. "I keep meaning to pick it up when I'm buying the latest Guns and Ammo."

Rebecca grinned. "Do they let you read things like Cosmo at the nursing home?"

Chris laughed out loud. He couldn't help himself. "Not very often. Getting an erection has a tendency to dislodge the catheter."

Rebecca nodded sagely and then chuckled.

Chris turned to grin back at her when he noticed her laughter fade to a look of intense concentration. She approached one of the walls and lifted a hand, tracing some of the etchings.

"Hey…turn the light this way would you?"

He did. The light illuminated the wall.

Rebecca mumbled as she read. "I think…I think this is a riddle of some kind."

Of course it was. Naturally. What else? Underground labs, mutated freaks, global conspiracy…wouldn't be complete without miscellaneous puzzles. If he so much as heard the first bleat of an emergency self destruct sequence, he was packing up and going home.

Chris stepped closer. "What does it say? Looks like gibberish."

"It's code really. Not a difficult cipher, if I'd paid attention earlier. I won't waste time explaining how I can crack it. But here…" She gestured to a thing that looked like a sun pissing on a bloated tick. "…this says…_Dark and light blend when two shall be three, two shall fall, only one remains._"

"Oookay."

"And here…_When the sun meets the sea, and the sea meets the sky, the wind blows the way."_

"I hate this shit."

Rebecca smiled at him. "Me too. But obviously it's important."

"It's always important." Chris sighed dramatically. "Shall we find out how the puzzle works?"

"I'm ready when you are, partner."

_Partner…Sheva…please be okay._

………

Deep within the confines of the hidden lab, Albert Wesker chuckled.

The woman across from him was trying to be…flirtatious? It was ridiculous really. That she should want to address him as a man. He'd be a man once. Years and years before he'd become a god.

He had no use for the stupidity of human relations. And this woman, in her expensive designer dress with her cleavage displayed whorishly, interested him about as much as the act of sex she so desperately wanted.

"Albert," she whispered, tracing a hand up his cloth clad thigh, "I'm soooo glad to be working with you. I've waited so long to meet you."

Excella Gionne was a whore in lady's clothing. He knew for a fact she'd slept her way to the top of her field. Clearly, she had no other marketable attributes save the spread of her toned thighs. She wasn't very bright but she was determined. And this saved her from getting her neck snapped from boredom.

He brushed her hand away and rose, moving to the monitors to check on the progress of Redfield through his playground.

So he'd found the bitch, Chambers, and lost his other bitch somewhere in the process. Interesting.

Kennedy, stupidly, had taken the bait and followed Ada Wong deeper into the jungle, decreasing Redfield's stack of putrescent heroes by half.

As an adversary, Redfield was minor. But he was still interesting, in a purely scientific fashion.

He was, even now, conquering the puzzle laid out by Spencer to block entrance into the lab. Albert watched the girl build a fire and light up the tiny torch in the center of the cave.

Redfield, surprisingly, then took the torch and began swimming toward the center of the lake. Smart enough, it seemed, to realize the puzzle meant bringing the fire to the alcove above the lake.

He climbed up, touched the torch the gasoline in the center of the ceremonial bath, and did something unexpected…he blew his own breath on the fire.

Clever enough to get this far. Human intellect, it appeared, could not be discounted in all things.

The gasoline spread a serpentine path outward, igniting and spilling into the shape of the long dead Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, surrounding Redfield and stranding him in the middle of the fire away from his companion.

Albert, ignoring Excella's chattering, turned up the volume to hear their conversation.

"-an elevator!"

"Take it, Chris! We have to know where it goes!"

"I can't leave you here!"

"I'll follow when the fire dies down! And one of us should wait to see if your friend shows up!"

Albert saw the indecision on Redfield's face. But he knew his man. He'd take the elevator. His sense of revenge, of duty, wouldn't allow him not to.

"Albert! Are you listening to me?"

"Silence." He uttered, watching the elevator descend, leaving the girl stranded and taking Redfield to the top floor of the lab.

Close now. It wouldn't be long before they'd meet again.

Wesker turned, eyeing the woman he'd silenced with his command. She didn't look happy at all.

"Excella," He said casually, "I have things to attend to. Wait here and watch these monitors. In a few moments, release a few of the X-Series to combat the girl and eliminate her."

"But-"

He passed her, brushing aside her clutching claw like nails.

And left her fuming as he went to the face the only man who'd ever escaped him.

……

The lab was surprisingly basic.

Steel lined walls splashed with drying blood lead Chris down a corridor filled with an eerie, mechanical humming.

He hated leaving Rebecca. She was so small. But she'd survived this long. He had to trust she'd keep on doing it. Someone had to stop Wesker. And as his comrades in arms kept getting lost or left behind, it looked like that fell on him.

"Chris!"

He turned and everything moved into slow motion.

Rebecca was racing down the hallway toward him. Behind her, a man as big as he was (but nearly as handsome, thank you very much) pursued her rapidly.

Chris was moving, the man was moving, and Rebecca was caught. Just like that.

The man gripped her ponytail and lifted her straight up off her feet, dangling like a fish on a line. Rebecca's squeal of pain was cut short as the man's other hand latched around her throat and squeezed.

Her eyes bugged, her face went red. He was going to strangle her.

The red face went mottled with white and Chris was finally to her. He threw his body into the hit, smashing his foot into the man's upper outer thigh. It was enough to spill Rebecca to the ground and have the man turning, favoring his hurt leg.

They were of equal height and equal size and apparently equal skill.

The man swung and Chris felt the air hiss where his head had been moments before. He countered with an upper cut, feeling the impact of fist on solid muscle. The man wheezed and stumbled back but didn't go down.

Chris kept at him, going for a solid kick to the solar plexus. The man deflected it, sweeping Chris's leg aside and planting one hell of a jab to the side of his face.

His teeth gnashed together, he tasted blood. And with it, the rage blew up inside him like an inflated balloon.

Elbows, fists, and feet flew in punches, kicks, and attacks. Chris hit the wall, came off it and tackled the man in front of him. They hit the floor, skidding, Chris rising up to land a solid heavy blow to face and jaw. The other man bucked him off, tossing him to the left and gripping his hair as he moved.

He couldn't stop the knee to his face completely but he blocked enough of it that it didn't knock him out. It just hurt like a bitch.

Chris caught the other man's leg and pulled, spilling him to his back.

The muzzle of his gun hit the other man's forehead, his finger hit the trigger, and Rebecca screamed, "CHRIS! NOO! That's Kylie's father!"

The surprise of that statement cost him. The man under Chris used his surprise to rip the gun from his hand and reverse their position.

He pointed it steadily at his face from a few inches away.

"Billy! Stop!"

Billy? Chris stared into blue eyes inches from his own. Billy?

"Billy Coen!?" The convict!? The convict Rebecca had helped in Raccoon City was Kylie's father?!

So it seemed. And now, he was attacking them.

The face wasn't handsome. Not really. He had shaggy dark hair around a big nose and narrow eyes. But Chris could see what she saw in the guy. He was big, muscular, and scarred. He looked like he'd lived life hard and come out the other side. He was as tattooed as a biker and as mean as a mad hornet.

Chris could respect that.

"Ease off guy." Chris lifted his hands. "I didn't know who you were. But you really don't earn any points for attacking your baby mama."

There was no recognition on Billy Coen's hard face. He had empty eyes. He wasn't home. And whatever was riding his body wanted blood.

"Billy! Please!" Rebecca was easing down the hallway toward them. "It's me. It's Becca. It's me, Billy."

Billy twitched. It's the only word Chris had for it. He twitched like a fly had landed on his eyelashes.

"Rebecca?"

So he wasn't as far gone as Chris had thought. If he could talk.

"Yes." Rebecca sounded tearful. "Billy what have they done to you?"

Billy twitched again. "Objective incomplete. Target has not been terminated. Reconfiguring protocol."

Chris saw it coming. His arm came up, the gun went off, Rebecca screamed.

The bullet pinged off the wall, inches from his face. Chris and Billy struggled with the gun. They smashed one wall, the other, fighting for control of the weapon.

"Billy! Stop it! PLEASE!"

Chris stumbled, the weapon slipped from his grip. He turned and caught the butt of the weapon just above his left ear.

The pistol whip knocked him to the floor. He saw stars. A hand closed around his throat and lifted him right up off the floor.

So…maybe not equal strength. Coen was hopped up on something and had the strength of a dozen men.

"Redfield, Chris…" Coen said mechanically, "Subject V157-D12. Objective…incapacitate." Not kill. Incapacitate. Interesting.

The hold eased back from choking and then Coen tossed him.

He was airborne, thrown out like a bag of bad trash. He whooshed through the air, hit the wall, and slid down. Chris's vision wavered, telling him he was seconds from passing out, even though he'd tried to slap his arms against the wall and take the brunt of the impact. His bad arm pulsed like a prodded tooth.

He struggled away from the wall, tried to find his feet. Coen was advancing on Rebecca again.

Chris moved forward, vision sliding in ribbons. He was discombobulated and things seemed to be moving too slow. He was desperately afraid he had a brain bleed.

The shotgun was in his hands and aimed before he even knew he'd drawn it.

Coen had Rebecca's arms and was lifting her off the floor.

"Drop her, asshole! Or I drop you!" Clever? He couldn't tell. But still true.

"Chris! No! Don't shoot him!" Rebecca was still trying to plead with the insanity of Billy Coen. "Billy…please. It's me. It's me."

He shook her, hard. Chris saw her neck snap back and forth like a bobble head doll. He was going to break her neck.

Chris couldn't fire the shotgun now. In close quarters, he'd hit Rebecca with the spread. He drew his machete, tipped it back, and threw it.

His vision was starting to stabilize. A good sign. The throw was solid, heading straight for Coen's broad back.

In a lightening fast move, Coen dropped Rebecca and spun. It was inhuman speed, too fast for human eyes. Chris didn't even see him do it really. Just the knife was suddenly in the other man's hand and thrown back at him like a really horrible game of catch.

And Chris, hurt and suffering from a possible concussion was too slow.

It embedded itself straight through his Kevlar vest into his chest. He thought, son of a bitch, and collapsed to his knees. This happened all in a matter of seconds.

Not a heart blow. Or he'd be dead. But then, incapacitate didn't mean kill. It meant take him out of the equation.

The pain hit like a mack truck. It stole his breath and had him down on all fours on the floor incapable of doing anything but relearning how to breathe.

_Might have nicked a lung_. He spit on the ground and it was tinged pink. Not a good sign.

Everything was no dangerously slow. Almost like he was swimming in jello. He didn't know if Rebecca was alive or dead but he was useless to her now.

He couldn't make his body do more then crawl a few steps forward. His heart rate dropped exponentially meaning he was going to pass out or die. He wasn't sure which. Maybe both.

"Billy! I love you!!"

She was alive. He'd heard her shout.

Hands were grabbing his chest, pulling him up. His reddening vision wavered, darkened as they came down and stabbed him right in heart.

Great, he thought, stabbed to death by Rebecca's baby daddy. Not as heroic as he would have liked.

He was suddenly wide awake and standing. Adrenaline shot through his body like the fist of god.

And there was Sheva holding a plunger in her fist.

She'd stabbed him with adrenaline. Well…well…well.

He gasped and felt his eyes flare with the effects of it. The pain in his body washed away on a tide of power. It was the greatest high he could ever imagine. He felt like he could take on the world.

And then Sheva smacked him in the face.

It didn't hurt, nothing hurt at the moment, hopped up as he was, but it was a surprise.

"You stop trying to die on me, Christopher Redfield!" She shouted it at him.

Chris flashed a smile so beautiful, it was almost worth the fear she'd felt coming down the hallway toward him.

He grabbed her gloved hand and kissed it. "I owe you."

"You'll pay in full." She smiled back at him.

They both glanced down the hallway where Rebecca was tying up Billy Coen.

"How…"

Sheva shook her head. "He just let her go. He let her go and told her to knock him out. It seemed to take all his energy to keep from hurting her."

So…Coen had retained some part of himself. They just couldn't be sure how much. And apparently neither could he.

Rebecca was cuffing him with a pair of Sheva's cuffs and then she started tying his shoe laces together.

Chris lifted his brows in surprise.

"With his arms behind his back," Rebecca explained, "He can't untie his shoes. This is just as effective as tying up his ankles."

There were reasons she'd made S.T.A.R.S so young.

"We need to find Wesker." Chris stated, staring down at the fallen man. He had to give respect; Coen had fought off whatever had been riding him long enough to try to save Rebecca.

Sheva said, "He must really love you."

Rebecca gently touched the unconscious man's forehead. There was such sadness on her face that it broke Chris's heart. With no other choice at the moment, they left Coen there.

Brief introductions were given before the three of them set off down the hallway. At the end, it curved sharply left and ended at a pair of double doors.

The doors opened, Chris going in high, Sheva low and Rebecca watching their backs. The trio moved into a large, open ended chamber lined on all sides by tanks of fluid. Test tubes filled with anonymous faces of sleeping humans.

A single desk sat in the middle of the room and upon it, perched Albert Wesker.

He was clapping gently.

"It seems, Redfield, you're a man of many talents. The infected come in masses, you survive. I send one of our newest, most indestructible breeds of genetic marvel after you and you actually engage in hand to hand combat with it. I lead you, step by step, into my trap and for some ungodly reason…for one sniveling little bitch of a girl, you come." Wesker rose from his perch and started toward them.

He wore a simple khaki shirt and slacks and a pair of sunglasses. He was just a man, a smiling one at that, nothing about him should have inspired fear. But the sight of him moving toward them was the most terrifying thing Rebecca Chambers had ever seen.

"Rebecca," Wesker crooned, "You disappoint me. I thought we'd made friends. I even sent an old friend out to play with you and this is how you repay me."

"If I wanted to make friends with a rotten asshole," returned Rebecca, "I've got my own, thanks."

Nice, Chris thought, and gross.

Wesker grinned. "And this must be your lady love." He paused about ten paces away from them. "Tell me, girl, does Chris know why you spurned his affections? Does he know why you didn't let him touch you between those burning thighs?"

Chris snarled. "Leave her alone, you fuck. This is between you and me."

Wesker grinned wider. "Shall we then? I do so love entertainment. It does get a bit tedious down here sometimes."

Three guns echoed simultaneously.

He moved like the wind, here one moment, gone the next. He teleported, there was no other word. His body just wasn't there anymore.

Glass tanks ruptured, bullets striking behind where his body had been moments before spilling gelatinous goo upon the sterling ground.

They couldn't move fast enough to do more then try to find him.

He struck Rebecca with a solid kick to the stomach, sending her off her feet and through the air like a swatted fly. She smashed into more tanks, tumbling to the ground in a shower of broken glass and fluid.

Sheva landed a punch that glanced off his shoulder before she was lifted up and tossed away, tumbling head over feet as she hit the ground and rolled to a stop near where Rebecca had fallen. Neither woman moved.

Chris struck, missed, struck, missed because the man just wasn't there. He just wasn't. Wesker grasped his bad arm and twisted it up behind his back, kicking him in the back of the knee to drive him to the ground.

The pain lanced through the adrenaline, causing Chris to curse even as Wesker wrapped his other arm around his throat and leaned down, putting his mouth against Chris's left ear.

"You disappoint me. All these muscles. All that human drive and determination. And what does it get you? Nothing. You can't stop me, you can't beat me. You can't even begin to imagine what its like to be what I am. I am a god." Wesker tossed him away. "So come on! Come at me. Let's see how you fair against a god."

Chris rolled to his feet and fired in a single move, the shotgun bucking. He hit nothing, heard the explosion of broken glass and fluid, fired again as he tried to track Wesker across the ceiling, over the walls and back again.

The shotgun clicked empty and was being ripped from his hands. Wesker bitch slapped him with the stock. It hit him hard in the face and then was rammed into his stomach, stealing his breath as he doubled over.

"You fool! How did you escape me all those years ago?" Wesker brought the stock down on his back causing Chris to face plant on the ground. "You're weak! Useless! You come here for Sherry Birkin. Well you can't have her! She's mine. I'm going to use her to create a new race. You see William implanted her with the knowledge of all his research. She was so small, so easy. He was a genius after all. He filled her up with the knowledge before she could even walk. She has it all, neatly stored in her subconscious. And I know just how to get it out."

Chris tried to roll to his feet and Wesker kicked him in the stomach, lifting him up off the ground and throwing him into the desk. Chris crashed down hard, splintering the wood.

"Of course, she might die. But…we do what we must for science." Wesker grabbed his throat and lifted him to eye level. "You on the other hand, are an annoyance. One I plan to take care of…right now."

Wesker started squeezing and a boom sounded, followed by another. He jerked, surprised and dropped Chris to the floor.

Blood splattered from two neat holes in the back of his head. He lifted a hand and touched them, irritated.

Sheva was on her knees with her handgun aimed.

"Interesting." Wesker turned quick as a snake and slapped Chris back as he rushed him, throwing the other man into a wall of tubes and causing more glass to shatter and soak the floor with the odorless goo within.

He started toward Sheva and stopped. His head tilted like a curious dog.

"It seems your friends are coming. Droves of them." He sighed and moved so quick Chris wasn't even back on his feet before Sheva was being tossed again. She landed right on top of him, driving Chris back to floor in a spill of glass and pain.

"I guess our play time comes to an end for now. Pity. I was enjoying myself." Wesker moved to a panel in the wall behind the desk and pressed a button. "I'd kill you now before they get here…but I think I want to see what you'll do next to find me. Human vengeance is so amusing after all."

Wesker turned back to smile. "Tell Claire hello, won't you?"

And he was gone, the panel sliding back in place just as the doors burst open and hordes of BSAA troops spilled into the lab. A few of them were toting Billy Coen's still form as they moved.

Chris tried to get back to his feet but the adrenaline was wearing off. Above him, Sheva was being tended to by medical personnel.

She was trying to get to him but medics surrounded him, clouding his vision. He felt his eyes sliding closed and couldn't stop it.

Wesker was gone. Birkin still hadn't been found. He'd failed. He'd failed.

And somewhere over the ocean…his XBOX was still on.

"God damnit…"he whispered before the pain came up and swallowed him down into the darkness.

'


	9. Chapter 9

_So Chapter 9 begins._

_We'll meet our hero post battle with Wesker #1. We'll discover in this chapter what happened to Sherry. I'll also segue way into a little piece of 5 that I've been meaning to explore._

_We'll touch upon Sheva's secret. And explore Sheva and Chris's romance more deeply._

_Hopefully you'll keep reading. Thanks to my newest reviewers. You guys keep a lady writing!_

……

**Chapter 9: The Curious Case of Christopher Redfield**

_**6 months later…..**_

**Name: Chris Redfield**

**Age: 35 and ¾**

**Height: 6'1"**

**Weight: 215 lbs (damn that beer!)**

**Occupation: Couch Potato**

"You skuzzy asshole!" Claire exclaimed, tossing her controller onto the floor with a vengeance. "You left me behind again!"

"Dude! That's the name of the game! Left for dead!" Chris laughed loudly as Claire punched him in the shoulder…twice. "What!?"

"You dick! I'm your sister!"

"Not in this game. In this game, you're an old man!"

"Whatev." Claire stood up and brushed a hand down her skirt, smoothing the soft linen. "I've gotta go anyway. I've got a million things to do today."

"Oh come on! I'll wait for you next time. Play again."

"No." Claire studied his face. "You should shave Chris. You look like the man of the mountain. And take a shower. You smell like an old man's ass."

Nicely graphic. He didn't think he looked that bad.

"And get out of this house, for god's sake. I don't think you've left it in a week."

Two actually. But who was counting?

"I picked up beer yesterday." Chris shifted on the couch, reaching down to scratch his balls.

Claire made a disgusted face. "Really, you can't wait till I leave to do that?"

"What!? They itched."

"Jesus. I'm so out of here." Claire picked up her purse off the table. Chris's apartment was a typical bachelor pad. Pizza boxes and empty beer bottles plagued it like a flies marking the line of death. Magazines peppered the floor, a haphazard stack keeping the coffee table in the living room upright as its fourth leg. The newest issue of _Game Informer _was opened on the counter next to a half full coffee pot in the kitchen.

"You need to get out dude. Seriously. Get a girlfriend."

Chris shrugged and went back to battling the undead. "No one interests me right now. Girls is too much trouble."

Claire smirked as she made her way to the door, stepping over forgotten shoes missing mates as she went. "Uh-huh." At the door, she paused and said over her shoulder. "Jill told me she's been put on assignment in Africa. She'll be leaving tomorrow night."

Chris grunted and shrugged. "She who?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "You know…SHEVA ALOMAR."

Chris shrugged again, playing dumb. "What about her?"

"Don't be stupid Christopher. Go get the girl."

Chris put down the controller and looked up at her. "She doesn't want me Claire. She made that perfectly clear."

They stared at each other for a handful of moments. "You're a dumbass."

"Noted." Chris returned to his game. "Have fun at work. Bye."

He _was _a dumbass. He'd avoided Sheva for weeks after they'd left the jungle. He was acting like a pissed off prom date.

He just didn't think they could go back to being friends. Or buds. Or compadres. Or whatever. Chris just didn't want that from her. And she didn't want him. So..end of story.

Chris sighed, scratching his chest. Maybe he should at least shower. He was smelling pretty ripe.

But wasn't that the lot of the bachelor?

Claire paused on her way to her car, considering going back in to kick her erstwhile brother in the balls. Nice idea but it wouldn't make any difference really. He had the Redfield stubbornness. He wouldn't do anything until he was ready. And likely then it would be too late.

The mission in the jungle had been a success. They'd found Sherry, huddled and hurt in her cell but still alive. They'd begun deprogramming on Billy Coen. They'd uncovered blue prints and intel on what Wesker was up to next. All in all, not a bad find.

The intel was coded but Rebecca and her team were working on that even now.

But something had happened in that jungle. Something between Chris and Sheva that had left a sour taste in Claire's mouth.

Leon was mum on the subject. Saying only that it was their business and Claire should leave it alone. Leon was acting weird as well. He was constantly carrying around some hankie stuffed in his shirt pocket.

Sheva would only say that Chris and she had had a falling out.

Claire wasn't an idiot. She knew it was romantic in nature. She'd seen the way her brother had watched the other woman during their debriefing. She knew that look in his eyes. And it got her back up toward the other woman. Because Chris was her brother and she loved him.

Claire had been all ready to give Sheva a piece of her mind about being a bitch and mistreating her brother. And then she'd seen the way Sheva had watched him in return.

She was into Chris as well. Wayyyy into him. Claire thought maybe the other girl was in love with her brother.

So what was the problem? Claire didn't know. But she was thinking it was Chris's fault. From his reaction inside, she just knew it was.

Claire whipped out her phone and dialed a number.

Inside his apartment, Chris stepped out of the shower, feeling cleaner and better then he'd felt in weeks. He lathered up his face and started shaving while his boom box (Jesus Chris, get an IPOD already! NO ONE has boom boxes anymore) blared Foreigner's _Cold as Ice._

His cell phone started ringing and Chris hit the answer button just as the song transitioned into _Everybody Have Fun Tonight _by the much over looked awesomeness that was Wang Chung.

"Sup."

"Eh? Chris? I can't hear you. Turn that shit down."

Chris chuckled at Jill's pissed off voice. But he obeyed, saying casually, "What's up home slice?"

"Lord…you can't be that old. Really." But Jill was laughing. "We've gotten some intel from Rebecca and her team."

He shut off the boom box completely. "Wesker?"

"Not exactly. It seems to be the location of Ozwell E. Spencer."

"Spencer? He's still alive?"

"So the intel infers."

"Interesting." And odd. Spencer was OLD ten years ago. Now he was likely ancient. Up until this point, he'd also been presumed dead.

"Where's he hiding out?"

"In some older then shit castle in Germany. Or so the intel suggests."

Chris licked his teeth and perfected a pose in front of the mirror, glad to see the few extra pounds he'd put on recently didn't show up in his gut. Frankly, his gut was nothing but pure muscle. "Trap?"

"Doesn't seem to be. In fact, the intel was so well encoded that it started to fry itself the more Rebecca's team deciphered. I think we weren't meant to be able to decode it. A fail safe slammed in and we lost tons of it. Basically we know he's in Germany hiding out. But not what he's been up to. Or what Wesker was working on in the jungle."

"Ah." Chris scratched his neck. "What's the plan?"

"Barry thinks we should check it out. Keep it low key. He wants the two of us to go in and see whats what."

"Naturally. As he can never implement an entire team for something like that. That would just be too wise."

Jill chuckled. "You know he hates to waste money. I'd swear he was Jewish in his soul."

"I know right. If he wasn't so fucking Catholic he practically has the Virgin Mary tattooed on his ass."

"For sure." He could hear the firing up of Jill's car. "But we'll be shipping out in a few days. I'm on my way to Leon's BBQ and pool party. You coming?"

"Ugh. You know I hate that shit. Bunch of breeders drinking beer and barfing up wine coolers into their manicured bushes."

Jill was laughing before he finished his tirade. "Whatever. You're going. I know without even asking what you've been doing lately. I think Rosey Palmer needs a night off dude. Seriously."

Was she implying he'd sat around whacking it for the last few months? He had. But that was besides the point. If he hated anything, he hated being obvious.

"Alright, damnit. I'll go."

"Holy hell…he's leaving the compound."

"Shut it. I'm only going on one condition."

"What?"

"No and I mean NO set ups."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean it Jill. There had better not be one "friend of a friend" accidently showing up there or I am soooo out of there."

"Really Redfield…would I set you up?"

…………………………………………………………………………..

Leon's house was upper class suburbia. A three bedroom, two bath ranch in the suburban jungle that Chris generally steered clear of like the plague. It was a house for baking cookies and breeding babies and bathing shaggy dogs. It basically screamed for a 2.5 kids and PTA meetings.

Leon, born and raised upper class suburbia, hungered for those things. He'd had a string of long term love affairs and serious girlfriends since Raccoon City but something never hit the right never completely as he was still single, still looking, and still annoying about it. Chris figured he'd met Mrs. Right somewhere along the way and lost her because otherwise, based on how charming, polite, and gentlemanly he was with the ladies, there was no reason he should still be alone.

Chris packed his Dodge 4x4 behind Jill's Geo Metro (WHY!?) and climbed free of it, pulling his duffelbag with him. Chris was already wearing sunglasses, his swim trunks (yellow with giant blue hibiscus flowers on them. Claire's most recent addition to his wardrobe) and a white wife beater with blue flip flops. The duffelbag wasn't for clothes, it contained the necessities of life: beer, chips, beer, his gun, and beer.

Toting, the bag on his shoulder, he flip flopped toward the backyard. He could hear commotion occurring and knew that the regular crowd was already there.

He passed Claire's prissy little red two seater death trap Miada, Carlos' (idiot) ugly black Monte Carlo, a shiny blue Mercedes, Kennedy's black Jeep, and a Vespa on his way to the backyard.

The backyard had a big cedar deck over looking an in ground Olympic sized swimming pool flanked by nicely maintained Willow trees. Well manicured bushes lined the walk to the deck, showing Kennedy's herb garden off to one side and the man himself wearing an apron that read _May the Forks be with you. _Of course, everyone knew Kennedy was a big Star Wars fan boy.

Chris mounted the stairs and caught sight of a well toned blonde swimming laps in the pool. She paused and laughed with Claire who was lounging on a raft in the water. Carlos ruined the moment as he grabbed the blonde and pulled her under.

The blonde was cute. Young, clearly, but nicely put together. He was hoping it wasn't a set up because as cute as she was, he just wasn't into it today.

Jill, clad in a tasteful one piece of royal blue, waved and wandered over. "You came."

"Twice today actually." Chris retorted causing Jill to choke on her beer and then laugh.

"Gross."

Chris chuckled and hugged her. It had been a few months since they'd seen each other. Last time, they'd gotten sloppy drunk and Jill had lost her car keys in a toilet at the seedy bar they'd gone to.

She slapped him heartily on the back as they embraced. "Jesus you're getting huge."

Chris tugged her long ponytail affectionately, "That was the idea."

"I can barely get my arms around you." She brushed a hand down his bicep, looking into his face as they separated. "I think I missed you."

"I maybe missed you too." He eyed her body with genially good nature. "I know I missed your ass."

Jill laughed again. "Noticed how good it looks huh?"

"Very nice."

She gestured at the pool. "Saw you looking at the blonde. Want me to ruin it for you?"

He lifted a brow. "She Carlos' girlfriend?"

"Not exactly." They wandered together toward Leon at the grill. "She's Sherry."

Chris paused, glanced back at the toned blonde with the nice boobs, looked back at Jill. "LITTLE Sherry Birkin?"

"The one and only. Not so little anymore huh?"

Chris sighed, admiring how the girl had become a woman. "Christ that makes me feel old…and a little like a pedophile."

Barry, who was standing close talking with his wife, said, "Carlos said something of the same thing earlier."

Chris laughed and exchanged pleasantries with Barry's wife, a perfunctory hug and kiss, and a "how are you?".

Barry's kids, one boy, two girls, were swimming in the pool with Rebecca's daughter. Chris made his way over to Rebecca, dressed in a pretty pink two piece swim suit and matching sarong, and embraced her tightly.

"Hey."

"Hi you." She leaned back to kiss his mouth gently. "That's for rescuing me."

Chris grinned. "That's it? I figured it was at least worth a hand job."

Laughing, Rebecca slapped his fanny. "There. A hand job."

"More like a jip job." Chris wrapped an arm over her shoulders. "How's Coen?"

She laid her head on his upper chest. "Good. The deprogramming is coming along nicely. He's not ready to be released yet but it's going well. Kylie has spent some time with him."

"Bec…did he know about Kylie?"

Rebecca shook her head. "We lost touch after Raccoon City. He disappeared off the map. I spent years trying to find him. Turns out he's been in Wesker's hands for about five years."

"Jesus." Chris shuddered at the thought. "Surprised as fuck he's still sane."

"Me too. He says they mostly took vials of his blood and pumped him for information. Billy can handle hard interrogation techniques so I'm sure he was hard to break. He doesn't go into details but…"She shrugged and sighed.

Chris nodded. "We get it. Anybody who knows Umbrella gets it. I'm sure it was ugly."

"Yeah." Rebecca turned her face up to him. "Hey…"

"Is for horses?"

She laughed gently. "Could you go inside and grab me a Coke from the fridge?"

Chris lifted a brow at her. "You can't do it yourself?"

Rebecca shrugged and stepped away from him. "I have to keep an eye on the kids."

"Uh-huh. Or you're just lazy."

"That too."

Chris laughed genially and moved to the sliding glass door, stepping into the cool air conditioning of Leon's kitchen. His kitchen was overly large, opening to the deck and spilling in an open floor plan into the main living area and hallway leading to the bedrooms. The change in temperature gave him goose bumps. Apparently Kennedy liked it cold.

The color scheme of the kitchen was rustic Italian. Mostly soft yellows and artistically crafted black wrought iron shelving and faded wood cabinets. Cleverly stenciled grapes adorned the borders of the ceiling and matched the back splash to the sink. It was classy and topped off by a four seater table and chairs in dark chestnut wood.

The whoosh of the sliding door cut off the sounds of party and laughter from outside. He turned and started toward the fridge.

He came up short like someone had taken a tazer and shocked him.

Sheva stood frozen facing him, holding a bottle of Bud Light. She was wearing…basically nothing. A wispy swatch of a silver bikini with a blue sarong around her hips with silver flip flops.

In clothes, she'd been something to see. Nearly naked, she was a revelation. Her arms and stomach were sleek and toned, her legs long and athletic. She was slim, muscled, and still feminine as the abundance of breast in the bathing suit attested. Her hair, freed from its ponytail, trailed loose and shiny to the tops of her shoulders.

His stomach felt queasy. His junk got as hard as a rock. And his heart started pounding. The sweat from the heat of the outdoors was joined by sweat from nervousness.

"Hi." She said quietly, the first to break the awkward silence.

"Hi." Chris shifted a little. "I was just gonna grab a Coke for Becca."

"Okay." Sheva pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in a nervous gesture, causing his already aching groin to become like steel with the sinfulness of it. "I was just getting a beer…"

He was moving toward her and didn't remember starting the walk.

"…Chris…I have to explain about…about what happened with us…" She shifted her gaze to the floor as she talked. "…I don't want you to think that I…that I do that stuff with men on a regular basis. That I…didn't want to…do more…I just…I haven't ever…" She set her beer on the counter and ran a nervous hand through her hair. "I don't know how to say this…"

He was a five or six steps from her now and frozen to the spot. "You didn't want me." God it hurt him to say it. Hurt him to _hear _himself say it. "It was the pressure. The adrenaline. The fear. It's okay. I get it."

She shook her head adamantly. "No. No. No. You were…you were naked. And I just…freaked."

…...

……..

…………well. She…freaked. He was sort of…he was…he didn't know WHAT he was. That was…insulting? He wasn't sure how to feel about that. She freaked!?

"…my naked body made you freak?" He sounded outraged. That was good. Better then sounding shell shocked.

"No wait. I didn't mean like that." She was blushing. "God I don't know what I'm saying. You…you're like…well you know what you look like."

He wasn't sure what the hell she was talking about. He wasn't sure what she was trying to say. He just knew every word drove a dagger right into his ego. And he was bleeding to death because of it.

"I'm not sure I do. What do I look like?" Good he still sounded outraged. Better then broken.

She shifted her feet and finally met his eyes. "Amazing. You look amazing. You're built like a Greek god or something. You know that."

The outraged became shock again. Jesus he was bounding through emotions like a cracked out Tigger.

"I saw you…and you were naked…and wet…and _gorgeous…_and I freaked. I did. Because I wanted you. I _wanted _you. In a way I'd never wanted anyone. In a way that had nothing to do with liking you…because I do. In a way that just…"

He might have told her to stop. He might have. But he craved everything she was saying.

"…made me want to lick every drop of water off your chest…and keep on going."

She was looking at the ground again. If she hadn't been, she'd have seen him move. She'd have known he was coming.

"So I freaked. I panicked. And then…you kissed me. Or I kissed you. Or…and…I didn't want to stop. But I had to…because I-"

He had her. He took her hand and pulled her with him effectively silencing her as he led her down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

The first door on the left opened into Leon's guest room. Chris pulled her inside, shut the door and yanked her against him.

The kiss was wet and desperate and hungry. They kissed like they'd die if they didn't taste each other. It was all tongue and teeth and greed.

The kiss became two, ten, a hundred and followed with groping hands and mouths. Her hands were in his swim trunks, under his shirt, groping him like a horny teenager. His were in swim suit, fingers and hands on her breasts, on her ass with a mindless desperation that bordered on insanity.

He hadn't made out this hard with a girl since 9th grade when Tina Tucci had finally let him get beyond second base after months of teasing. Her top ended up on the floor, his tossed over a lamp, her sarong lost somewhere over the dresser. His first mouthful of breast was better then a cold beer after a long hot day.

Her back hit the wall and his mouth was all over her. Her hands were in his hair, down his back, over his nipples in a mirror of what his had done moments prior.

Chris thrust a hand into the front of her panties and the first wet touch of her nearly sent him red with ragged need. He cupped her, pressing his palm against her dampness and growled low in his throat. He had never in his life wanted to finger a girl so bad. He felt like he was a randy kid with his first real crush.

He started to press his fingers inward toward her and she grabbed his wrist, hard. "Wait…"

Chris didn't think he could go through this again. His body went rigid with the idea she was rejecting him again.

"Wait…please…" She was panting.

He tongued one nipple and pulled his hand free of her pants. She shivered, her body bowing a little toward his mouth.

"Chris… wait…"

God. He couldn't wait. Jesus. What did she think he was made of steel or something?!

Pissed, her jerked away from her. She grabbed his arm to stop his complete retreat.

"Jesus Sheva…what the hell…you some kind of cock tease or something?"

Hurt flashed across her face so immediate and terrible that he felt like a douche bag for even saying it. It was followed by anger, sharp and fast.

"No." She tossed his arm away from her. "I'm some kind of virgin or something."

Shock spread over him like a thick blanket. He was frozen there in surprise, looking at her beautiful flushed face.

"Yeah." She stated when he couldn't find words. "That's right. I'm a twenty three year old virgin. Laugh it up. Hilarious. Har har har."

Sheva went to retrieve her bikini top. "So there ya have it. Not a prude. Not a cock tease. A virgin. So much worse right?"

Chris gently touched her arm as she angrily jerked at bikini top to untangle it. "Sheva…"

She shook off his hand. "Forget it. You obviously care more about getting your dick sucked then anything else…so forget it."

Ouch. He felt that like a kick to the groin.

Chris took her arms in his hands and turned her to face him. "Sheva…I'm sorry. I didn't think…you just…the way you respond to me…I just assumed…"

"That I was a big whore? That I'd had it plenty…so what was one more guy right?"

"No…that you knew what you were doing." He gently rubbed her upper arms. "I'm sorry. Let's throttle back, okay? Let's just take it easy. We don't have to do anything alright? I'm content to just be with you."

Sheva looked at him in surprise as he smiled gently. "You'd be the first guy EVER."

"I know. But don't forget…I'm old enough to know how to control myself. I won't rush you."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Chris held out her untangled top. "Go ahead…put it on. We can go back out to the party if you want."

A few moments passed in silence. Finally, Sheva moved toward him and slid her hand down his pants. She took him in her hand and felt the length of him. His breath caught, held, and made him lightheaded.

"No. I don't want. I want you."

"Are you sure?"

Sheva slid his trunks down his legs and tossed them away. "We're partners right?" She discarded her panties and stepped into his arms. "To the end."

Together, they tumbled back onto the bed.

……………………………………………………………………………..

It was a bittersweet goodbye the next day. Both of them knew she had to go out on assignment. Both of them knew he did as well.

In the early morning light, they'd held each other. Sheva, in the doorway of his apartment, clinging to him. She'd stayed all night with him.

They'd loved each other on every surface he owned. They'd eaten cold Chinese and then loved each other on the kitchen table. They'd played X-Box (Left 4 Dead made Sheva laugh so hard she nearly cried) and then made love on the floor. They'd loved in the bath tub, the bedroom, the front seat of his truck on the way over. He'd loved her gently, that first time, and then harder, faster, and desperately when she'd asked.

And then she was going. She had to go. And he wanted her to stay. He wanted her to stay with him. And he'd never wanted a woman to stay with him.

They'd kissed, softly.

There were no words. None were needed.

He'd watched until her taillights were gone in the lavender tinged darkness of predawn. He'd watched her go and ached for her.

Because he was in love with her. He knew he was. Because he felt like he'd been up all night eating bean burritos. His stomach was in knots thinking about her.

He was in love with her. And thought she was in love with him too. He just didn't know what to do with that.

Chris glanced over at Jill who was sitting beside him on the plane.

A few days had passed and he'd hardly gone a moment without thinking of her. She couldn't call. He knew that. But he wished she would.

He had to get his brain back on track.

Jill smiled. "We'll be landing soon. You ready to solve a decades old puzzle?"

Chris sighed. "Are we even sure Spencer is lucid enough to be any good?"

"No way to know. But the intel seems to imply he's pretty much unguarded. So we shouldn't meet much if any resistance."

Chris nodded, looking out over the German forest as the plane began to taxi toward the runway. From there, they'd rendezvous with Kurt, their BSAA contact, who'd transport them to the coordinates decoded by Rebecca's team.

A few hours of travel would put them on Spencer's doorstep. And one step closer to uncovering the mystery behind the madness that had been Umbrella.

Chris was starting to get antsy with anticipation. He had so many questions for the old man. About the origin of Umbrella, about who was still peddling their wares, who had the power and the money to go to ground and still conduct research. And WHERE he could find Albert Wesker.

Soon…soon…he'd have his answers. He was hours away from unraveling the greatest mystery of his life. Hours away from solving the riddle of a town and a company that had stolen his family, his hope, his innocence. Hours away from vindicating the last decade of his life.

He should have been over the moon with excitement.

But somehow…somehow….all he could think of was Sheva Alomar.

'


	10. Chapter 10

_Here we go folks. I want to shout out a thanks to those who keep me going on this. A lot of my stories I simply lost my way on. I have a feeling we're going to see this one through to the end. _

_In this chapter we're going to explore a little piece of Five that I wanted to mess around with. It gets a little sad here but worry not, we shall return to the humor and the action in the coming chapters._

_Let's see how it goes eh?_

…

**Chapter 10: Over the river and thru the woods….**

So our erstwhile hero began a new quest. Freed from the bonds of his previous experience, immersed in the promise of his new love, flanked by the friend who'd stood beside him countless times before, Chris Redfield prepared to unravel the riddle of the destruction of the town he'd grown up in and the safety of the world he'd known.

Jill paused at a set of double doors at the end of a long, dark, musty hallway.

The entire castle had been void of life. In fact, had Chris not trusted Rebecca's intel so completely, he would have turned around and left after the first hour of useless wandering.

But then they'd come upon the bodies.

Ten, fifteen, twenty and more dead bodies had been tossed, turned over, discarded around the courtyard. They'd been hanging from trees, floating in the moat, broken and beaten and forgotten on the stairs in the great hall. They were guards, lots of them, guards with guns and trained by a man who'd single handedly orchestrated the destruction of an entire town. And they were all dead.

Not only were they dead, of course, but they'd all popped off more rounds then Chris had ever seen. Empty shell casings covered the floor like metal confetti at a birthday party. Some of them were still warm. The only blood that was scattered around seemed to be from the dead men. Whatever they'd been aiming at, the numerous bullet holes in the walls told Chris they'd missed. And badly.

One man's head was completely twisted around his neck, his eyes staring off into the distance at the world beyond his shoulder blades. Another two had been twisted together like some kind of macabre pretzel, their arms and legs wound around each other in a sickening kind of bone breaking hug.

Something had come along and killed these men. And not just killed them, played with them before they'd killed. Played like an evil god with a grudge against mankind.

There was one room left at the end of the hallway after a circular trek to the top of the highest watch tower. One room where voices could be heard speaking just beyond the wood.

Finally, Chris thought, and saw it echoed on Jill's face beneath her cap, answers.

He pulled his gun, jacked a round into the chamber and saw Jill mirror the gesture. And then he kicked the door open.

Two seconds was all he had to assimilate the situation. The old man, dead on the floor in a pool of blood, the wheelchair abandoned. The window that exposed the southern most wall and the world immersed in a raging storm beyond the glass. And the man…the man in front of the window illuminated by the flicker of lightening.

"Wesker!"

Someone shouted it. It didn't matter who. And they were both firing.

He almost told Jill they'd never hit the other man. But it didn't matter. They fired and separated and shifted and moved, the way they were trained.

Wesker moved like nothing human. He just wasn't there and then he was and Chris was being knocked back, Jill being kicked. A punch, a smash and his gun went flying. Chris dove to get it back and Wesker caught the back of his uniform and tossed him, he rolled, caught the gun and came up firing.

Wesker teleported (the only word he had for it) kicked Jill in the ass playfully and sent her sprawling and was suddenly at Chris's side again. A fist to the jaw that had Chris's vision bisecting and a punch to the ribs that sent him doubling over trying to breathe.

Jill leapt with her knife and Wesker caught her throat, shook her like a rapid dog, and tossed her. She flew up and out, smashed into a book shelf and slid to the floor in a heap.

"Silly girl." Wesker said in a sing song voice. Chris spun a back kick, easily blocked by the other man, and Jill was firing. Poof, gone from the path of the bullet, and then he was punching Chris hard enough to send him sprawling.

A rib cracked, he was pretty sure, with that punch. Chris stumbled, Jill was being tossed again like a toy. And Wesker was back, gripping his throat, picking the taller man clear up off the ground.

Choking, Chris kicked in vain before he was being smashed into a table and thrown down it like a well tossed bowling ball down a lane. He couldn't do more then brace for the impact before Wesker was there again, jerking him off the ground and holding him up in the air by his throat.

He tilted his head like a curious dog, studying the other man. "I tire of you. You've become tedious. This ends…now."

And he squeezed.

Chris had been choked before. In those split seconds, his brain flashed back to the first time he'd faced the tyrant. The monster unleashed by the other man at the Spencer's Estate to test the meddle of his personally trained team of soldiers.

The tyrant had choked him; its long fingers closing over his throat as it had lifted him clear off the ground and pulled his other hand (the one laden with claws as long as a man's arm) and prepared to eviscerate him.

That choking…had sucked. Big time. His throat had sported beautiful bruises for a week after that night.

But it was nothing next to this one. Wesker had more power in his human shaped hand then that Tyrant had had in its whole mutated body.

He was dying. Quickly, if his darkening vision was any indication. His brain latched onto Sheva and he chose to keep it there while he died. There were worse things to think of when life was leaving your body then the woman you loved.

The air rushed back into his lungs almost painfully as he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

He had a moment of surprise before it happened. And he knew he'd remember it for the rest of his life.

Jill Valentine, his partner in crime, his best buddy, his pal and the woman who'd saved his ass so many times in the past, did it again.

She hit Wesker broad side in a tackle worthy of the NFL and took them both through the window to his left.

Glass shattered, raining down on Chris as the two of them seemed to hang, suspended, in mid air for a brief moment.

His eyes met Jills, his hands shot out to grab her.

And they were plummeting, plummeting, turning and tossing in the window down the endless craggy edges of the cliff into the perilous dark beneath it.

.NO.

"JILL!!!!!" Chris was reaching out with both hands into the darkness, watching the emptiness of that dark brought to horrid life by the flashing of the lightening around him.

The darkness didn't answer. There was nothing now but the body of Ozwell Spencer. And the death that had come with him.

The death toll had risen over the years with Spencer and Wesker's evil machinations. They'd destroyed Raccoon, taken Chris's parents, his friends, cost him everything.

And now…

"Jill…" He stayed there, on his knees, for some time. For a long time, it seemed until Kirk came to get him. He'd heard it all over the headset. He knew.

He informed Chris they'd already sent a team to the better of the ravine to try to…find her.

Find her. Right. Kirk was being kind. He should have said…to recover her body.

"Chris…" Kirk's voice again, this time speaking to him like he was a roof jumper and he was trying to talk him back from the edge, "Your nose is probably broken. And you're listing to one side. We need to get you medical attention."

Chris blinked. That made sense. He supposed. But he was numb.

He was numb and Jill was dead. Jill was dead. Jill…

"Jill.." It seemed to be the only word he knew at the moment.

"Yeah." Kirk gestured to someone who was arriving behind him. "Yeah. We'll find her. Let us fix you up, okay?"

"Okay." Chris turned and let the medical team take him.

He thought maybe he was in shock. Shouldn't he be feeling grief or something? Something at all would be nice. He just felt empty.

Someone gave him a shot of something. A woman with blue eyes and dark hair. Dark hair like…

He must have passed out because the next thing he remembered was sitting on the edge of a cot in a hospital room. He was shirtless, his ribs taped and bound, his nose splinted.

Machines beeped lazily around him. A few nurses came and went, checking his vitals, scribbling in charts. Occasionally one would draw a tube of blood and ask him how he was feeling.

Fine, he would answer, fine. But he felt far from fine. He felt…empty. Dead.

The door to his room opened and Claire stood there, her face devoid of her usual make up, her hair in a sloppy ponytail with pieces sticking out in every direction around her face. She was puffy, shaky, and grieving.

"Claire."

Her face collapsed into lines of grief and sadness. "Christopher. Oh god…Chris. You're alright."

"Yeah." He shifted a little on the bed. "Jill fell. I couldn't catch her. She fell."

He sounded so blank. There was no emotion in his voice at all.

Chris held his hands out in front of him, palm up. "All these muscles…I couldn't help her. I couldn't stop him."

Claire crossed to him at nearly a run and gathered him in against her. It was a good hug, a hard hug, it pained his ribs and he didn't care. Because the hug felt like home.

"Chris…" Claire's voice shook, "They…couldn't find her. They looked for nearly two days…no sign of her. No sign of Wesker. No sign of anything. They think…maybe…the river…swept their bodies away."

His arms lifted and wrapped around her, squeezing. The emptiness inside of him began to ache. Every pain in his body began to throb like a bad tooth. But it was nothing…nothing against the pain in his chest that opened up like a hungry mouth and started to gnaw at his soul.

"They're saying…they're saying she's dead Chris. They're saying she's dead…and so is Wesker."

"It's over." His voice was still so empty. "He's dead. It's over."

"Yes honey. Yes." Claire sounded so soothing. She sounded like…his mother. "It's over now."

"Jill's dead?" The ache was beginning to feel like stomach cramps. It was starting to feel like food poisoning. It was starting to feel like he was going to throw up. "She's dead?"

God, Claire thought frantically, her brother was the strongest person she knew. He was her hero, her strength. And he sounded so lost, so broken, like a little boy who's discovered the monster under the bed is real…and it's eaten Mommy and Daddy.

She leaned back and cupped his face, looked into eyes that were a mirror of her own. "Yes. She's dead. I'm so sorry, honey."

_Jill…the first day at the Academy in Raccoon City. Her hair was so short, bobbing around her chin like brown silk. She was one of the only girls there to scale the wall in under a minute. She was one of the only girls to fox crawl beneath the barbed wire without bitching about the mud. She was one of the only girls that didn't hit on him._

_They'd shared a soda outside the cafeteria on break. She'd commented on his pretty boy looks and skinny arms. It was the first time he knew he had to start buffing up._

_He'd crushed on her a little then. Jill Valentine with her dark hair and blue eyes and long legs. Jill Valentine, the only girl he'd ever met who'd had the balls to tell him when he was out of line. He'd tried to steal a kiss the day they'd graduated from the Academy._

_He remembered her face when he'd pulled back. She'd looked as appalled as he had. Because the kiss…had felt like family. It had felt damn close to kissing his sister._

_Jill…the day they'd received their acceptance into S.T.A.R.S. She, the daughter of an imprisoned thief, so proud to have pulled away from her past. And Chris, following in his Dad's footsteps, and then stepping so far outside them when he'd joined S.T.A.R.S. _

_His mother constantly asking when he was going to marry that Valentine girl._

_Jill…opening the cell door to release him. Freeing him from that cage that had come so close to being his coffin. _

_Jill…tumbling over that cliff to save his worthless life. _

"Chris?" Claire was gently stroking the side of his face.

"Claire…Jill's dead." And his blank voice was suddenly so full of pain.

"I know honey. I know."

He collapsed into her arms and sobbed. It was the most horrible sound Claire had ever heard. It was broken and wrenching and real. He cried like he'd spill his guts all over the floor and keep on going.

Claire pulled him in as tight as she could and cried with him. He'd finally stopped the man who'd taunted and chased them for years…and he'd lost his best friend in the world doing it.

Chris held onto his sister and sobbed…because he was pretty sure a part of him had died with her.

'


	11. Chapter 11

_So now we've explored pre-five. Here were going to see what occurs between that and Africa. We'll find out a few things about what Sheva's been doing and how Chris ends up with her again in Africa._

_Obviously I've tweaked the story a bit but it doesn't take the fun from five. Just makes it a little more juicy. I'm going to play with 5 and see where the story takes me. I'll likely edit out parts, play down other parts, and add my own twists on things to make it interesting. Don't flame me for changing the story in places, we all know this is how I role._

_Thanks everyone for your dedicated reading!! I love you guys!_

**Chapter 11: If life gives you lemons…cram them right up its ass!**

In the year that followed Jill Valentine's unfortunate death, Chris Redfield found he was capable of great, gaping, terrible caverns of bottomless rage.

Most of the people close to him eventually stopped trying to reach him, save for Claire who seemed unwilling to take the hint and leave him to his self destruction.

He took every dangerous mission in every remote place in the world. He always went under prepared, under gunned, and sometimes…a little drunk. He drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, picked fights in bars with guys twice his size and worked out until he was pretty sure he was as big as a brick shit house.

Sheva Alomar was always on his mind. Always. It was likely the only thing that kept him out of the beds of the tramps that hit on him in bars.

He'd tried to contact her at first, after Jill's death, but the BSAA said she was in deep cover and couldn't be pulled. After that, he knew she'd tried to call him and he'd deliberately avoided her phone calls, too pissed at her to care. She hadn't been there for him in his greatest moment of need, what did he care if she was trying now to get in touch?

A few months ago, she'd stopped calling. Pretty much everyone had stopped calling.

He'd taken down more terrorists in the last year then he'd had over the entire course of his career. He was known in circles as "The Executioner" and the "Kamikaze". There was no mission too big, no mark too challenging or dangerous. He went in, he killed, he destroyed and he went back out to leave the BSAA to clean up the mess in his wake.

His reputation opened doors for him to do what he wanted within the organization. Higher ups, when speaking of doing things quick and dirty, called for a "Redfield".

He'd effectively alienated anyone and everyone who mattered to him. No one but Claire gave a damn anymore about whether he lived or died. His answering machine sat empty of messages from caring parties.

He was alone in the world and for the first ten months following Jill's death that had been just the way he wanted it. But in the last couple of months, he'd begun to feel the ache of loneliness. He could almost feel Jill in the great beyond shaking her head at him in disgust at what he'd become. He was a drunk with no friends. Taking away what made him Chris Redfield was just as effective as killing him. Had Wesker put a gun to his head and splattered his brains out all over the walls, it wouldn't have been any worse.

The Hummer he was driving sputtered a little over a pot hole in the dirt road he was driving. Chris gripped the wheel and glanced out into the scenery as he passed by.

Africa. The Serengeti spread before him in a safari of endless sand and sun and green leafy tree tops. He'd flown in to Johannesburg International several days before and met up with Barry at a bar there to discuss his latest assignment.

Even Barry had been cool to him upon their first meeting. It had taken several drinks for Barry (Chris had not had a single drink besides water) and Chris busting his old style of jokes for the other man to loosen up.

The mission was more straight forward then his previous ones. He was to head to Kijuju, a small out of the way village in South Africa, and rendezvous with Alpha Team to help them pursue a man named Ricardo Irving. Irving was supposedly privy to information regarding an ill informed terrorist attack currently referred to as "The Doomsday Project". Little was known about the attack but sources indicated that it was going to possibly be global in scale.

All Barry had for information was that Irving may have ties to the residual left overs of the WilPharma coporation. WilPharma had gone under with Kennedy and his sister's revealing of their corruption concerning the T-Virus vaccine and their misuse of the G-Virus sample left over from William Birkin's research in Raccoon City. Tricell had stepped in and cleaned up the mess but Chris knew for a fact that there were rotten tomatoes in Tricell as well. Someone within that company had been in cahoots with Wesker.

But Tricell was a key player in the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium which was a big funding source for the BSAA. So no one was about to start asking questions based on hear-say.

Barry had given him coordinates, general information, and sent him on his way. Chris had driven through parts of Africa that had looked as affluent as any in the States. He'd driven through dirt poor towns as down trodden as any in a third world country. He'd driven through the savanna and over grasslands recently tried by wild fire. He'd seen herds of gazelle, packs of lions, side striped jackals and bushpigs.

He'd enjoyed the shade beneath umbrella trees and slapped at the evil ants that ran rampant around the whistling thorns.

All in all, he'd enjoyed the rough hewn beauty of the Serengeti. The weather could be blistering and the evenings so cold it was amazing. The truth of the desert was really quite simple: when the days reached a hundred and fifteen degrees, nights in the eighties sometimes felt arctic to the human body. Chris kept hydrated and beneath the shade as much as possible.

As his car passed beneath the fluffy clouds of a clear blue sky, Chris Redfield found himself wondering with all the comrades he'd lost, all the evil he'd seen, all the sacrifices he'd made… if it was all worth fighting for.

The savanna spilled him into the epicenter of a small town. Thatched roofs and scantily clad bodies meandered around as he passed, some working out of stalls and others peddling their wares on the side of the road.

Kijuju reminded him a little of Gisan with its humble lines and crumbling buildings. But there was a promise of power long since fled in the buildings that had once stood proudly in heart of a budding Provence.

Someone had pumped money into this town once. It was clear in the architecture, in the towering buildings far from the huts he'd encountered in Gisan. It was poor here, no doubt, but it hadn't always been. It looked more like a town that had fallen on hard times. He knew that Kijuju had once been a hub for travelers and merchants. Though he figured it had been years since anyone had travelled here with any real financial purpose.

A glance down the back alleys of the roads showed him rotting animal carcasses alight with the hungry bodies of flies and bugs. The faces of the people he passed were creased with hard work and worry, their clothes stained with sweat and filth. He figured bathing was not a very necessary thing to people struggling just to survive.

He also noticed that he was the only white guy he'd seen in the last hundred miles. This was not always uncommon in countries where the BSAA sent him in to conduct business but it wasn't going to help smooth the political waters any either. Kijuju politics were pretty old and narrow minded. Not only was he white, he was American and these two things got him plenty of dirty looks from passersby as he drove into the small town.

Chris pulled the Hummer to a halt at the corner of a stand selling skinned animals and overly ripe fruit.

He climbed from the car and pulled a bottle of water from his back pack, taking a long swig before strapping it back in place. He was aware of every set of eyes for yards watching him with interest as he pocketed his car keys and pushed his map and binoculars into the back pack.

He wasn't armed at the moment, not wise exactly when in possibly hostile territory, but Barry had insisted that he not carry just in case he'd been pulled over by the local law enforcement. They didn't need a reason to throw an American guy in jail. And he did NOT want to anger them by being white, American, and armed.

A contact with the BSAA was meeting him and his escort at the butchery in town before they headed off to their destination.

It was good they were sending him an escort, he didn't speak Swahili and a majority of the people in Kijuju were of Bantu origin. Chris was fluent in plenty of languages (German, Italian, French, Russian and enough Spanish to get by) but Swahili was one of the hardest languages to master.

He pushed a hand through his sweat damp hair and glanced down at his tan desert gear. He was dressed in loose garb, allowing for the passage of air and giving him the freedom to move quickly but the outfit wasn't flattering at all. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb surrounded by the colorful clothes of the other people in town. Women dressed in saris of bright orange, red, and green were quite common around the small village. Men seemed more laid back, dressing in plain white tanks and dark print tops.

Chris took another long pull on his water and struck up a cigarette, watching a group of children playing not far from where he stood with a stick and a colorful ball. They were dressed in ragged green and blue shirts and shorts and seemed to be having the time of their lives. One girl, her hair neatly braided against her scalp, turned to meet his eyes and smile, clutching a filthy baby doll to her chest.

Chris smiled back and not for the first time in his thirty plus years kind of wished he'd taken the time out of revenge to have a few rug rats.

"Mr. Redfield, your reputation precedes you."

His heart fell into his stomach and tried to fall out his ass. His contact was-

"I'm Sheva Alomar." She had her hand held out to him, palm open, waiting to be shook.

She was acting so cool. As if they'd never met. As if he'd never had her under him, over him, been inside her and watched her face as she'd come. He didn't know what game she was playing but he'd play along.

He took her hand, shook it, "Just Chris thanks. I take it you're going to accompany me to the destination."

"Yes." She released his hand when he would have liked to have held on. "The government here is not keen on outsiders. That's why I'm here. To smooth things over."

"Yeah they really roll out the carpet for Americans." He wanted to touch her. Take her face and kiss her. He wanted to pick her up, throw her in the back of the Hummer and ravish her. The look on her face told him that if he'd dared, she'd knock him stupid.

Sheva smiled politely and turned to walk beside him as they started down the road. She was dressed in a shiny purple tank top and cargo pants. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a sleek ponytail.

She handed him an earpiece that he slid into his ear to match her own.

Chris wanted to take her hand, stop her, and beg her to forgive him for avoiding her all those months ago. He wanted tell her he was an idiot, a fool, a moron for cutting her out of his life because he'd just been too fucked up to let her in. But he couldn't. He didn't dare. The look on her face said she'd slap him down if he tried.

His head set hissed, indicating an incoming transmission from HQ.

"Chris, Sheva, this is Kirk. How's the signal?"

"Comin in loud and clear dude. How's Stacy?"

"Pregnant as fuck and making sure I know it." Kirk and Chris were old buddies. He and his wife Stacy had been there to help Chris pick up the pieces after Jill's death.

"Women can't live with em-" Chris prompted.

"Can't shoot em." Kirk answered and they laughed together. Sheva merely rolled her eyes and kept walking. "Listen, the two of you are meeting your contact at the Pyamy Butchery at the edge of town. Get suited up and make your way to the town square to rendezvous with Alpha team. Got reports of Irving being sighted there at a black market weapons deal."

"Will do Kirk, thanks."

"Roger, over and out."

The towns people parted a little as they passed. A few men stood around kicking a filthy blood stained sack that lay motionless on the ground. Chris was hoping there wasn't what he thought there was in there but he didn't stop to find out. The last thing he needed was to get involved in somebody else's business.

Not far from the butchery they were pulled up short by a few guards at a check point.

The first man in question, toting a wicked looking machine gun, stepped up to frisk Sheva. He swept his hands down her arms and waist and slid them around to grab her ass and squeeze.

Chris had made a fist and taken a step forward before he caught himself.

Sheva, meanwhile, shoved the man away, "You don't have to get touchy!" She whisked out money and pressed it into the man's hand before she turned to Chris. "Let's go."

Chris nodded and passed by the rapist in training. The other man didn't back off and they were forced to brush against each other as they moved. Chris's arm brushed the other man's chest. He turned his head and met those dark eyes.

There was nothing sane in that look. It was the look of a man who'd long since abandoned reality. It made Chris think of the eyes of the things in Gisan.

Sheva led him down a narrow street lined with shops and empty buildings. A large sign told them they were close to the butchery. Halfway there a soft breeze began blowing and when Chris turned to look back at the town, it was mysteriously empty. Not a single person stood on the street from which they'd come.

Sheva shook her head when he gave her curious eyes. "It's getting close to dusk. The town people go in when the sun starts setting. The cold keeps them from congregating outside."

Chris hit the kill button on his com and grabbed her arm, pulling her gently to a stop. "Sheva, please. We need to talk."

She shook his hand from her arm and said under her breath. "Not now. Not here. There are eyes everywhere here. I'm known here. Let's go..partner."

She kept moving toward the butchery.

_Partner…_

He flashed on Jill and his chest ached. Shaking it off, he kept moving after her.

In the shadow of the back doorway to the butchery, he took her arm again. "Sheva…"

She turned, glanced down the street and up at the decrepit building beside them, satisfied they were away from prying eyes, she said. "Chris…nows not the time. We're on a mission. You of all people now that the mission comes first. Whatever you have to say can wait."

"I just wanted-"

"If you're going to apologize, don't. I don't care. I don't want to hear it. I get it. I'm not stupid. You met someone else. You moved on. End of story. Let's just leave it." She turned and opened the door giving him no time to retort.

End of story? Did she think that was what had happened? Did she?

He followed her into the shop.

Their contact met them. He was dressed in a turban and loose fitting white garb. His face was tanned and lined with sun and age.

"Good. You're here. Come with me I have your gear."

Sheva took the man's arm and hugged him. "Reynard. It's good to see you."

Reynard Fisher, Special Agent undercover, hugged her back briefly. "You too, _matokeo ya utafutakiji kwa_."

Sheva smiled at the Swahili endearment. She and Reynard had been friends for the many years he'd been stationed here undercover. She thought of him much like a father figure.

He led them back to a small room surrounded by strung animal carcasses and boxes of preserves. It smelled like rotten meat and vomit and something close to the zombies in Raccoon City.

"Here. Grab your weapons." Reynard gestured to a weapons case filled with ammo and a Beretta for each other them. There were also Kevlar vests and shoulder holsters for their guns.

Chris set his back pack up on the counter and withdrew his BSAA uniform. He shed his shirt and tossed it on the table. Shirtless, he listened as Sheva and Reynard exchanged information about the coordinates of the town square and Irving.

Sheva concentrated on what Reynard was saying, profusely aware that Chris was half naked and dewy with sweat two feet from her. The two men were now discussing the Uroboros Project, which was the meat of the matter for which they must locate Ricardo Irving.

She should have been focusing on the situation at hand. Instead, she was very aware that Chris was back in her life.

God she'd missed him. Each day apart from him had been hell. She'd cried her self to sleep in the first few weeks after he refused to take her calls. And then she'd dusted herself off and got on with her life to the best of her ability. It had been hard; harder at times because of…well because of lots of things. But she'd done it. She'd almost convinced herself she was done with him.

And yet the sight of him without his freaking shirt had just set back her self healing attempts to the very beginning.

It was pathetic.

Reynard took her hand and squeezed as she finished strapping on her shoulder holster and jacking a round into the chamber of her M93R.

"Be careful, Sheva. I do not like the way the town has become of late. I worry that things here are already escalating out of control."

"I will." She kissed his cheek as Chris shook his hand.

Together, they started out of the side door of the shop, stepping into the heart of the business districts back alleys.

A long narrow stairway spilled them down and had them stepping over a dead goat left to rot in the blare of the sun.

"Listen," Chris said as they stepped into a hoodoo shop lined with human skulls and filled with gris-gris. "No matter what else happens, we stick together."

"Don't worry." Sheva answered briefly. "I may not be as big as you, but I can still hold my own."

He knew that from personal experience. Hadn't she thrown him against the wall of his apartment and nearly knocked the breath from his lungs before they'd-

He stopped that line of thought right there. No reason to think about sex when they were headed into hostile territory. Of course, the sight of her ass in those tight pants didn't help matters.

The room opened up into another alley filled with boxes and a stairway leading up to an open door. Somewhere beyond that door, someone was screaming.

"Chris…"

"Yeah I hear it." And they were running.

They burst through the door in tandem, Chris high, Sheva coming in low. Their guns trained on two men forcibly holding down another. They were feeding him something, forcing it down his throat. The other man struggled, screamed and went limp beneath them.

"Hey!" Chris cocked the hammer on his pistol. "Up slowly, hands in the air."

The men turned and there was nothing in their gazes, an emptiness that was startling. They looked…well…dead. Except they were walking. One of them said something in Swahili and they laughed.

"Get on the ground," Sheva instructed, "Or we'll shoot you."

The man on the ground started having a seizure, distracting them from the two men before them. He convulsed, clawing at his throat and screaming. In the confusion, the two men disappeared and Chris was forced to let them go and grab the man on the ground.

"Hey…jesus…Sheva radio for help."

"Yeah." She touched her ear pierce and the man on the ground let out a gurgle, a rattle like death, and went still. Blood spilled from his eyes, from his nose and mouth and he stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Chris, still holding him, turned to Sheva. "He's gone."

"What was that? What did they do to him?"

"I don't know but-"

The dead man lunged at his throat and Chris shoved him away as something disgusting and slimy burst from his lips. It looked like…a large nasty flower with teeth, exploding out of his throat to whip wildly in the air before it slid back into his mouth.

The man rushed at them and Chris and Sheva opened fire at the same time, Sheva instinctively going for the chest but Chris…well…he'd survived Raccoon City. And he knew there was only one way to kill a zombie.

He shot the man clean between the eyes.

The impact of the bullets lifted him off his feet and threw him onto his back on the ground. He was dead for sure now, blood seeping from the hole in his head and chest to pool around him on the ground.

"Jesus…what was that?"

"It wasn't like any zombie I've ever seen." Chris met her eyes. It was in that moment they both knew they'd stepped into something similar to Gisan. They'd walked into trouble. And there was no backing out now.

The next few hours passed quickly enough. They found themselves on the run, sometimes for long periods of time, from hordes of the…things that pursued them. In fact, very little respite came after that first man had lain dead upon the floor.

They moved when they had to, shot when they had to, hid when they had to. The village of Kijuju was teeming with monsters and there was nothing to be done for it but run.

Panting, after a hurried run from a horde of the undead, Chris slammed a door and promptly kicked a full oil drum over in front of it, effectively sealing out the dead beating on the other side of it.

They couldn't be far from the town square now. They'd been on the move for what seemed like hours. His personal GPS system told him they were just a quick walk to the square.

HQ had politely informed them that they were to continue on with the mission. So what if the entire town filled with locals were hostile? Apparently locating Irving was more important then their own lives.

Chris leapt down from a small cliff to find himself behind a house at the edge of the town square. He turned to see if Sheva needed help getting down herself but she was already on the ground and moving toward the open back door of the hut.

He should have figured she'd be apt to touch him as little as possible. Seriously…she thought he'd found someone else and that was why he had cut her off. God she was such a…girl.

They both heard the shouting when they entered the hut. It sounded like a rally outside the walls of the house. A glance through the dirty window showed them a large mob of the infected locals cheering around a suspended dais high above the rest of the town. A man stood atop the dais, shouting into a megaphone. Chris couldn't understand what was being said but he understood the man was inciting a riot.

A huge, hulking beast of a man stood off to one side wielding an axe longer then a man with a blade as big as Chris. The edge of the blade was crusty with dried blood.

Sheva let out a gasp, "Chris…is that-"

Chris put his hand on his arm to stop her and maybe..well…for comfort. The crazy mob had Reynard Fisher on his knees on top the dais. He was shouting in rage at them while two of them held his arms and pushed him down.

"Oh god…" Sheva struggled against Chris's grip as the axe man lifted the giant blade high into the air. "We have to help him! Chris! Let me go!"

"We _can't. _There's hundreds of them, Sheva. We're out numbered."

"Reynard!" She whispered it with such grief that it broke his heart to hear it.

The axe blade came swinging down, Sheva turned into his arms and buried her face against his chest with a tiny sob. The blade swished and thunked against the stump, cleanly severing the man's head from his body. A spray of blood splattered the surrounding crowd exciting them beyond belief. Reynard Fisher's head rolled across the platform, his face frozen forever in a mask of rage.

Sheva hadn't watched, couldn't. But Chris had. Because if he could die like that, god damnit, Chris could damn well watch it.

Sheva gripped her hands into Chris's vest and shook like a leaf in the wind. "Oh god, oh god…oh _god."_

Chris cupped the back of her head and held her. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry."

"He was my _friend."_

"I know." He wanted to keep holding her. Wanted to offer her some kind of comfort. But the man on the dais had spotted them and was now shouting into the megaphone. Faces began turning toward them, one, two, a hundred. And all of them were hungry.

"Sheva…"

"Chris…I want to tell you something…"

And he wanted to hear it. He did. But now…definitely wasn't a good time.

"Honey…we can talk later. But right now…we gotta _move."_

Sheva turned and gasped in disbelief. The mob outside was moving toward them. They were outnumbered, out manned, and out of time.

Breaking apart, they both ran back into the hut, glancing around in frantic desperation.

"Sheva! Block that door." Chris threw his shoulder into a book shelf, sliding it across the floor to block the nearest window facing the public assembly.

Sheva mirrored him, forcing another in front of the door. The back entrance they'd come through was still open and naked to the mob but as barricades went, it was the best they could do.

He had a mother fucking hand gun with two extra clips and no chance to make it out of this alive.

"Kirk, come in. We're trapped in the town square. We need back up and we need it now. The locals are hostile; they've spotted us and are converging on us right now!"

Kirk's voice crackled over the head set, "Roger. I'm on my way. Hold out as long as you can, Chris. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Sure. Right. No problem. Cake right?

The book shelves started rattling from the force of people beating against the door and window. It wouldn't hold long. Not nearly long enough to protect them until Kirk arrived.

"Chris…god."

"I know. We have to try to hold until he gets here. We don't have any other choice."

The bookshelf in front of the window tumbled forward with a shattering sound of glass. Chris fired before the first face cleared the window and fired again into the opening. Sheva echoed him, moving to range herself beside him.

They couldn't shoot fast enough, not nearly. The bookshelf in front of the door tumbled down and the front door burst inward under the assault of the man beyond it.

Sheva turned her focus, Chris kept his. They fired, retreated, fired, retreated and eventually hit the back wall of the hut.

They were dead. They both knew it. But they kept fighting anyway.

Sheva clicked empty, holstered her gun and pulled her knife. Chris did the same.

He rushed the few men in front of him, taking them all together into a pile onto the floor. Sheva executed a round house kick, taking a large man in the chest.

Chris came up from the pile slashing like a man possessed. The knife hit flesh, dug deep, hit bone and kept on going. Screams peppered the air.

"Help!"

He turned and was already running toward her voice.

They'd dragged her outside the hut into the open. One had her by the hair, dragging her toward a rotted out corpse of a bus. The rusty skeleton of the burned out bus was like his beacon in the darkness.

Chris slashed at the grasping hands of a man close to him and followed it with a solid straight punch to the face. The man went down, head over ass, on the pavement.

Another grabbed his face and came in like he intended to bite him. Chris head butted him, feeling the brunt of the hit like a blow to the face. He kicked the man in the balls and watched him collapse, screaming.

Sheva was still screaming for him. Another man had grabbed her flailing legs and they were carrying her between them toward the bus.

The man with the megaphone was still shouting into it, moving toward Sheva and the other men. Chris bum rushed him, he caught the man in a tackle and took them skidding to the ground. Jerking the megaphone from his grip, he beat the man's face in with it and turning, hit the next attacker clean between the eyes with it.

Rising, Chris rushed the men holding Sheva. He kicked the one in back in the back of his knee and watched the man drop Sheva and crumble to his knees in pain. Not waiting, Chris gripped his arm around the man's throat, caught his chin in his hand and broke his fucking neck in a single swift move.

The man in the lead continued to drag Sheva by her hair. But Sheva pushed off the ground with her legs, twisted up under the man's arm, and punched him clean in the face.

Free, she drove her knife straight into his chest in a spurt of blood.

Chris grabbed her arm and propelled her forward. They ran, listening to the hungry wails of the men chasing them.

They ran up a flight of stairs and across a landing, leaping onto a suspended wood dais and then racing over to a concrete pad to make their stand. Trapped, they backed up to the edge.

Chris glanced around frantically. A wire fence was to their left and a gap leading over to the top of the rotted out bus.

Men began rushing the fence and trying to climb up from the ground to where they stood.

"They just keep coming!" Sheva shouted, kicking the fence and sending a climbing man down in a heap atop a few others.

Chris jumped the distance to the top of the bus. "Come on!"

Sheva echoed him, following him in a mad dash toward the front of the bus. The men weren't nearly as fast. They had a handful of seconds to make their next move.

Chris leapt back to the ground and caught Sheva as she followed. They raced back toward the hut, hopping a fence to climb up a ladder ranging along the side of the dais where Reynard's body lay sad and defiled.

Chris glanced around frantically at the top. Men were climbing up after them, leaping along the scaffolding toward them, hustling and bustling along the ground and trying to climb up walls.

Chris and Sheva ran on, ducking when a hatchet whizzed by in the air around their heads.

"Jesus."

Chris stepped back into an alcove and nearly tripped on something. His eyes went to the ground. There, amongst what was clearly Reynard's discarded items, a machine gun sat gleaming in the sunlight.

"Oh yeah." Chris snatched it up. "Sheva, get behind me." He checked it, found it had almost a full magazine. Another lay tossed negligently a few feet away. Snatching it up as well, Chris turned and faced the mob steadily running toward them.

Sheva had uncovered spare handgun ammo amongst the discarded items and reloaded her Beretta. She put a well placed shut into an electrical transformer far above the converging mob.

It hissed, sparked, and fell, smashing to the ground in a sparkling mess of electrical beauty. Bodies bounced, danced, and screamed as they were fried where they stood. Chris opened fire, peppering their advancing flesh with slugs.

Blood sprayed in a fine pink mist. They fell, more came, climbing over their dead comrades. Chris kept right on spraying them.

And then they saw the man with the axe.

"Chris, Sheva…how you holding up? I'll be there shortly!" Kirk's voice on the head set. He was close. But not close enough.

The axe man swung his axe, took out ten of the careening mob, hit the wood struts holding up their safe haven, and severed it clean in half. The haven tipped to the side. They had time to brace and down they came, both of them rolling as the wood collapsed and they hit the ground.

Chris kept right on rolling back to his feet, Sheva doing something similar. They turned and started running. Backed against a set of double steel doors, they had to make their stand.

Sheva glanced a set of piled oil drums and fired on them. Shots pinged against metal, one, two, thr-

The explosion set the ground on fire in front of them effectively making a barricade between them and their attackers. Furious, the mob tried to rush the fire. The smell of burning flesh was disgusting. The air was acrid with the stench of rotting meat.

The mob was kept at bay by the fire but not the axe man. He walked right through it, stopping only to lift that enormous axe up.

Left without any other option, Chris did the only thing he could: he attacked.

He rushed into the axe man's range of attack, caught those beefy wrists in his hands and stopped the blade from coming down. Every muscle in his body went into stalling that movement. Chris felt his legs and arms start shaking with the effort.

Sheva moved in close just as his body started to give up. She put the barrel of her gun under the bastards chin and started firing.

His face was quickly obliterated in a wash of blood and brains. Wailing, he dropped the axe. Chris hit the ground with the sudden weight of it. The axe man swung out with his last breath, caught Sheva in chest and knocked her airborne. She smashed into the steel doors and slid down them, still.

Chris let the axe fall to the side and crawled toward her in the flickering firelight. The axe man teetered, tottered, and fell flat with enough force to shake the ground.

The fire was dying, the mob was starting to cross the last smoldering bits of it. Chris grabbed Sheva, lifted her into his arms and turned right, running for the stairs not far away.

They were dead. Dead. Dead. Sheva was so still.

Afraid she was already dead, he raced up the stairs. His head set fluttered with static and then, "Chris, Sheva…find some cover. I'm gonna take out the door."

Chris skidded to his knees behind a wooden set of planks, tucked Sheva against his chest and turned into the concrete wall beside them.

There was a loud whistling of sound, an RPG dispatched amongst the whirring of helicopter blades.

The explosion rocked the earth, fire and blood harpooning up into the sky like the wrath of god. Bodies were blown to bits, parts showing down onto the earth in a misty pink rain.

Silence followed the explosion, split only by the whir of helicopter blades and Chris's heavy breathing.

"You okay down there?" Kirk, on the headset, queried. "Sorry it took me so long."

Chris pulled Sheva gently away from his chest, cupped the side of her face and turned it toward him. She was awake, staring at him from inches away with wide, startled eyes.

She said, "We're alright. Thanks Kirk. We owe you one."

Kirk answered, "No problemo kiddos. Continue to the rendezvous point with Alpha team."

"Will do."

The whir of helicopter blades retreated, leaving only the silence and quiet sizzle of fire dying in the background. Black smoke curled up from the destroyed steels doors below them.

Chris wasn't quite ready to let go. Apparently, neither was Sheva.

"I thought…" His voice was shaky with emotion, with receding adrenaline and worry. "For I minute, I thought…"

Sheva smiled, her dark eyes golden in the dying sunlight. "Yeah. Me too."

He cupped her face in his gloved hands."Sheva…"

She wanted to kiss him. Hell. She wanted to take him right there on the stupid blood spattered planks of wood. She wanted to climb atop him and take him into her and love him. And because she knew he'd left her for another woman, she pulled away from him.

Standing, she brushed off her pants. "Thank you, Chris. You saved my life."

He remained seated for a long moment, watching her. One knee was drawn up and his wrist rested on it while he watched her distance herself from him.

"That makes us even then."

She nodded and started reloading her gun. "Let's move on."

"Sheva," She met his eyes, "There was no one else."

Sheva stiffened at his words.

"There was no one else. It wasn't like that."

If there was no one else…then why had he just cut her off like that? Why not speak to her for an entire year? She couldn't think of a single excuse that would make that long of an absence alright. Except that he'd never felt for her what she had for him. That their night together hadn't meant anything at all.

Maybe it was on her. Maybe it was her fault for assuming they'd been more to each other then they had.

Sheva shook her head. "It's alright Chris. I'm not stupid. I understand."

"Understand what?"

"That I read too much into it. That we had a good time and that's all it was."

He shook his head and rose. "Sheva…it wasn't you. It was me. I cut everybody off for a long time. I…I was going through stuff. I didn't know how to deal. So I didn't deal. I ran away. What can I say? All these muscles and I'm still a pussy."

Sheva shook her head at him. "Let's just move on. Okay? It's fine. Let's leave the past where it is."

"But I have to explain. I have to tell you what happened."

They were walking now through another set of doors at the top of a rise, headed toward the storage facility where they would meet up with Alpha team.

Sheva stopped, turned, met his eyes. "Chris…it doesn't matter. Don't you understand that? You left. You were gone. You made it clear you were finished with me. And…I've moved on okay? I've…got someone else now."

His heart hurt. His chest hurt. His brain hurt. His body hurt. He just fucking hurt. She'd found a way to kill him and still leave him walking.

Sheva watched his face close down and shut off. She watched him pull into himself and freeze her out. It killed her to do it. To hurt him. But she had to make him understand that she wasn't strong enough to be with him, to love him, and have him leave again. She just wasn't.

And this was the easiest way to make sure he didn't even try.

Chris brushed passed her. "Fine. Let's continue on."

"Chris…"

But he'd pushed open a door and gone through it, leaving her standing in the dying sunlight with nothing but a broken heart. And no way to tell him the truth that burned in the back of throat like poison.

'


	12. Chapter 12

_And so there we have pieces of the first chapter of RE5. I like how it rolled. I'm going to play down the next few parts of it and play around some more with the love story between Chris and Sheva. Originally I didn't see them together but the story took me where it wanted and left me behind. _

_I'll hit on big parts of 5, change the dialogue up a bit and tweak it to incorporate the idea that they were lovers before they met in Africa. We'll push into darker corners of Wesker and Excella's relationship I think at some point as the story progresses too. We'll see that Sheva has more secrets in store for our hero and that old friends will pop up to say hello again. We're going to see some sex here in this chapter, for those of you who aren't into that kind of thing. Seeing as it's written mostly from Chris's point of view it might get a little…raunchy. I can be a pretty straight forward writer when it comes to that stuff, fair warning._

_Hope I can keep you guys coming back for more. Drop me a line anytime, good or bad, about things you like or hate about this fic here. I'm enjoying all the reviews, good or bad. It keeps me on my toes!_

**Chapter 12: Ten (thousand) things I hate about you!**

Well, dear readers, it seems our hero and his lady were to become embroiled in a terrible misunderstanding. Led astray by Sheva's comment, Chris Redfield found himself bitterly plunging head long into a quagmire of mindless violence.

They battled their way through oceans of undead and came upon the slain bodies of their comrades in arms. Alpha team was obliterated by a B.O.W. that soon Sheva and Chris found themselves bitterly battling beneath the murky streets of their African battleground.

They emerged victorious and escaped to discover themselves deeper in the darkness then they had even begun to understand.

Delta team was dispatched to accompany them on their journey and our struggling Superman and his Lois Lane arrived at their temporary base after meeting up with them in a storage facility somewhere north of their fortune fated skirmish with the first in what would be a series of evil minions.

Night had fallen, dropping the temperature to a chilly seventy two degrees.

The base was set up just outside of train yards. Delta team was stationed there temporarily to begin analyzing data and cleaning up Alpha teams demise.

Chris, sitting in the twilit darkness, watched Sheva conversing quietly with a man she affectionately referred to as "my Josh."

He didn't like Josh at all. Probably because the other man was looking at Sheva like the sun shined out her ass. They'd embraced briefly upon arriving at the storage facility and Josh had been wayyyy too concerned over her well being.

Now the two of them stood off to one side of the fire that had been erected in the middle of camp, talking and sharing bottles of water.

Other team members bustled around, talking in headsets and checking equipment. A few were inside one of the tents set up, uploading data to HQ.

Chris shifted, taking a drag off the cigarette dangling from his lips. A woman moved into the flickering firelight, facing him. She was tall, blonde, buff and beautiful, in a white tank top and cargo pants. Her face was devoid of make up and still managed to be striking. If she was a little too heavy in the muscles of her arms and her face edging a little into a square jaw, well that was just Chris being pissy.

"Mr. Redfield, I've heard good things. I'm Layla Tournay."

She held out a hand. In the darkness, it was hard to tell if her eyes were blue or brown. But her blonde hair looked nearly white in the flickering firelight.

They shook. "Layla. It's Chris by the way. You looking to bore yourself with my company?"

Layla planted herself down beside him. "Just the opposite in fact. I'm a good friend of your sister's. We actually went to college together at Penn State."

Chris nodded. "I remember now. Layla of the infamous pudding pants."

Layla laughed gently. "Well that just sounds all kinds of wrong."

"Claire went on for weeks about you and that pudding. She swore the entire water polo team couldn't face anyone on campus for weeks."

"Yes well…that's what happens when you fuck with me."

Chris met her eyes and snorted. "I think she said something about you being responsible for the school mascot getting pantsed and hung from the flag pole."

Layla grinned and shrugged. "He shouldn't have cheated on Claire."

Chris laughed and realized it was probably the first real laugh he'd had in months. He shifted to face her a little more and really look at her.

Layla met his eyes equally.

Claire had had pictures in the dorm room of her brother. Hell, he'd pretty much been her hero. But the pictures of a young man didn't do an ounce of justice to ripped god sitting on the ground next to her.

When Claire had called her to beg her to keep an eye on her emotionally challenged sibling, Layla had been pissed about being appointed babysitter. She had a low bullshit tolerance and figured Chris Redfield would be an emotional disaster better left alone.

But one look at that body and that face and she'd changed her tune. Months in Africa had netted her not a single night of sexual release. No one in Delta team was worth a second glance let alone a one night stand. But Chris Redfield looked like he would make her horny self repressed rage evaporate in a about two seconds.

Layla sat talking with him about congenially things for a little while. She noticed that he kept glancing over at Josh Stone and the woman sitting beside him. Alomar was a thorn in her side. She was a goody two shoes who spent most of her time sucking up to the bosses. She toed the line and followed orders without question. This kind of single minded automatonism was too much for a person of Layla's unique make up. She was constantly rocking the boat and testing the waters. She knew the only thing that kept her in Delta team was her eagle eye and grace under pressure. Because she wasn't very good at following orders.

Layla didn't miss the way Redfield seemed to be very aware of the other woman's every move.

She had a choice. She could leave the situation as it was or she could make her move. She studied the line of his jaw. His face was very masculine, sprinkled with just enough of a five o'clock shadow to tug at her female places. He wasn't exactly handsome, not traditionally anyway. He was more straight sex on a stick. The kind of man you took home, fucked the shit out of, and then masturbated to for months afterward.

Layla rose from the ground. "I could use your help if you don't mind. I've got a carton of ammo I've got to count and unload around behind the tents. You'd be saving my fabulous ass hours of work if you carried it for me."

Chris lifted a brow. She was pretty buff for a chic. He figured lifting heavy ammo wasn't really an issue for her. But what the hell? It wasn't like he was busy.

Chris rose, glanced once more at Sheva, and started after the other woman.

Sheva leaned over and put her head on Josh's shoulder.

Chris's stomach felt like he had just swallowed dog shit. It cramped and hurt at that action. So…he wasn't wrong. That was apparently the new man in her life.

Figured.

Chris followed Layla behind the tent and out toward the truck parked and loaded down with boxes of supplies. He was about to pull the back down on the truck to allow them to jump up and get the ammo when she grabbed him.

His back hit the metal with a clang.

He wasn't wearing his gear anymore, just a ribbed undershirt and his combat fatigues. It made him easy prey for her amorous hands.

Layla's hands twisted into the flimsy material and ripped. Shocked, he just stood there for a moment.

Her mouth was on his stomach and working higher.

It had been a year since he'd touched a woman. His dick sprang to attention and went hard as a rock in anticipation.

"Whoa." He choked out finally after long moments of her assault. "Hang on there."

Layla rolled her eyes up his torso. "I want to fuck you."

Jesus. His already throbbing cock felt like it was going to burst.

"I've wanted to do this since I first laid eyes on you." She raked her nails down his chest and he hissed part in pain, part in pleasure.

"Layla, hang on there. I'm sort of celibate."

Layla pulled her hair from its ponytail and it fell around her shoulders in a blonde tangle. She stepped in close to him and being five ten, it put her pretty close to eye level. "You saying you aren't interested?"

Chris let out another hiss as she leaned down and tongued one of his nipples, sinking her teeth in just enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "I'm saying I don't want to do this."

Layla's smile was white in the moonlight and feral. She didn't pause as he put his hands on her arms to stop her from kissing his chest. She just pushed her hand into his pants and wrapped her long nails around his cock.

Chris jerked in her fist like he'd been hit with a stun gun. His hands tightened on her arms. "Layla, stop."

Her thumb brushed over the head of his penis, slipping in the dewy moisture there. His hips jerked into that touch involuntarily.

"You don't want me to stop." She whispered and leaned in close to try to kiss him. He averted his head and her lips brushed the corner of his mouth and slid down to suckle at his neck.

He pushed on her arms and she pulled on his cock in answer. He gasped, his back bowing forward as needles of pleasure burst over his skin.

"Stop, Layla." He sounded hoarse.

Layla started stroking him. She milked him with her fist like a pro. His grip loosened and allowed her to slide her other hand down and release the zipper of his pants.

His mind rebelled but his body…god his body was so pent up. He wanted release. At this moment, his body didn't care who was offering it.

She slid her hand in and cupped his sac, rolling him around in her palm. "Mmm. No underwear. Somehow I knew you'd go commando." She practically purred it.

His hands fisted on her arms and pushed her roughly away from him. "I said stop." He was twice her size. Surely he could handle this. His fingers fumbled at the zipper of his pants.

Layla tilted her head to study him in the moonlight. "You holding out for someone else? Is that it?"

Chris shot her a dirty look over his shoulder and he fastened the button of his fatigues.

Layla slid her hands around him from behind and ran them over his chest. "Because if its Sheva. I can promise you she won't be coming for you. I heard her fucking Josh two nights ago. She squeals like a dying pig when she comes."

Chris saw red. He turned and pushed her away so roughly she stumbled.

"Don't talk about her like that. You hear me?"

Layla whistled, low. "You do have it bad for her. Well she doesn't have it bad for you, honey. She's sleeping with Denzel Washington's lost twin. The best you can hope for is being an usher at their wedding."

Chris hissed at her in rage and stomped off toward the camp.

Bullshit. BULL SHIT. Sheva wasn't sleeping with that..that..

But he knew it was probably true. Hell. It'd been a year. Of course she'd moved on. Why not? He couldn't blame her. Could he?

Sheva and Josh were now standing by the firelight laughing together.

The rage in Chris's chest became something close to insanity. Shirtless, he stalked toward them.

Kirk looked up in surprise as he passed and whistled. "That boy is PO'd."

One of the other members of Delta team sitting beside him laughed. "Want to make bets on what he's pissed about?"

Kirk eyed Sheva and Josh. "Nope. I think we both know."

A few steps away from them, he heard Josh say, "I'll have to show it to you sometime. You'd get a kick out of riding it."

That was it. That was enough.

Chris grabbed Sheva's arm and jerked her into step beside him.

"Hey!" Josh called, taking a step forward. "Take your hands off her!"

Sheva held up a hand to keep him in place. "It's okay Josh. He won't hurt me."

Chris practically dragged her into his tent. She stumbled and tried to run to keep pace.

Inside the dimly lit tent, he released her basically flinging her out in front of him.

"You fucking that guy?"

Sheva's face went red with embarrassment and anger. "That's none of your business!"

Chris snarled at her. "I've been inside you honey. I'd say that makes it my business."

Sheva started to move passed him. "I won't listen to this. Not from you."

Chris grabbed her arm and pulled her back, rough enough she knew her arm would be bruised from his fingers.

"Hands off!" She shook her arm to get him to release but he didn't let go.

"I just turned down a very willing woman because I can't get you out of my fucking head. And I find out you've been doing that piece of shit this whole time."

Sheva sneered at him. "I'm so sorry to have cost you a cheap piece of ass. There's still time for you to go get some. Don't hold back on my account."

Chris drove his free hand into her hair and jerked her head back to meet his eyes. "I've fucking ached for you. The whole time we've been apart, I've died thinking about you. And you're off fucking some other guy."

Sheva was simultaneously torn between being elated that he'd missed her so much and pissed that he thought so little of her moral character.

"It's none of your damn business what I do. You cut me out of your life remember? Deal with it!"

Chris shook her, causing her teeth to knock together. "I didn't cut you out of my life, god damnit! I-"

"I said HANDS OFF!" Sheva cut him off by using her free arm to drive her elbow sharp and hard into his solar plexus. Chris released her, doubling over as the air was stolen from his lungs. Sheva spun back and kicked him clean in chest, causing him to stumble backwards and nearly fall down. "You don't own me! I'll see who I want, when I want! And you keep your fucking hands to yourself!"

She raised her arm to swing what would have been a good punch at him and Chris deflected her arm to the side, grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. She stumbled but recovered, spinning around to try to hit him with a strong back kick. He caught her ankle and spun her like a top, gripping one of her arms to yank it up behind her shoulder blades and pull her into his body.

"Stop trying to hit me!" He shouted into her face.

"Stop breaking my heart!" She retorted and she tried to cram her knee up into his balls to get him to release her.

Chris countered by hooking his ankle behind hers, releasing her arm, and spilling her to the floor. He came down atop her, sandwiching her legs between his.

"I mean it, Sheva! I don't want to hurt you!"

"Well it's too late for that! You've already killed a piece of me!" She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked. He reared back at the pain and Sheva humped her body upward, knocking him just a little bit off his axis. It was enough to have her rolling him over and climbing atop him to straddle his waist.

She grabbed his wrists and slapped his arms down against the dirt above his head. She wasn't strong enough to hold him like this. Surely she knew that.

But she was panting and pissed and not thinking that clearly. "I hate you!" She spat, lifting his arms up to slap them back against the dirt again. "I hate you!"

And it killed something inside of him to hear it. She let go of his arms to slap him, hard and fast across the face.

He could have stopped it. But he let her do it. Because part of him thought he deserved it.

He tasted blood as his lip split. Sheva reared back to slap him again and he rolled her. This time he slapped her arms over her head and held her wrists with one of his hands, his legs he crammed between hers, forcing her legs open and preventing her from kicking him.

"Sheva, stop it! Stop it!"

Sheva panted, pissed beyond belief. Chris panted, his own rage lost somewhere under the wonder of what she'd said to him.

"I hate you," She spat at him, "I hate you for forgetting about me."

Chris released her arms and pulled back from her. She scrambled away from him.

He put his face in his hands and groaned. "I'm sorry Sheva. Jesus, I'm sorry for it."

"I don't care!" She yelled. "A whole year and not a word from you. I didn't know if you were alive. If you were injured. Or married. Or gone gay. A whole year!"

He rose to his feet and turned toward the door. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

Chris started toward the door, feeling empty and defeated. He'd done worse then lose her, he'd broken her heart. He'd turned her feelings for him to hatred. He felt sick to his stomach at the idea.

Sheva ran at him, smashing her hands against his back. He stumbled and she grabbed his arm and spun him around. "You don't get to walk out on me twice! I'm not finished with you!"

His lifted his hands up in front of him, a capitulating gesture. "I'm not going to fight you!"

Sheva didn't give him a choice. She kicked out at him and he caught her leg, spinning her away. She reversed the move, threw her ankle behind his and jerked. Chris spilled forward.

He would have gone to his knees had she not caught him.

Sheva grabbed fistfuls of his hair and kissed him.

It took him a second to respond. And then he tried to pull back from that angry mash of her mouth.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have her do this and regret it.

Chris Redfield was on the defensive from amorous female advances twice in one night. It was a record, even for him.

"Sheva! You don't want to do this."

Sheva jerked open her pants and shoved them down. They caught on her boots but she didn't care. She grabbed the front of his and yanked. His zipper, still loose from Layla's earlier pawing hands, came down easily.

Against it or not, his body wasn't. He sprang thick and hard into her hand as she grabbed him.

"Sheva," He gasped as she jerked him roughly, pumping him with mad determination. His body sprang with sweat and Sheva shoved his pants down his hips. They pooled on the floor at his feet. He was bare foot, so they fell away easily as Sheva jerked him forward.

"Wait…Sheva. Wait. Let me-" She did something with her fist, milked him hard and fast and stole the breath right out of his lungs.

"I want you." She practically snarled it. "Right now. Right here. I want you. Tell me no. I dare you."

He might have been a little scared by that if it wasn't so ungodly sexy. And he wanted her. She was the only woman he wanted.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't forget me." Sheva released her grip on his cock and kissed him. This time, he kissed her back. It was wet and facile, full of thrusting tongues and desperation. He slid his hands down the back of her legs and lifted, she opened her legs as he pulled her around him. Her pants and boots were shed somewhere in between and her damp panties pressed against his hard belly as they kissed.

She jerked his head back, looking down into his face as their mouths released. She licked the blood from edge of his mouth. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't forget me." She whispered again and ground her damp panties against the head of his throbbing cock. "And then I'm going to forget you."

His heart hurt at that statement, ached in ways he had no name for. He almost pulled her off him at the pain that thrust into his chest and stayed. But she yanked off her shirt, pressed her soft braless breasts against his chest and he was lost in the feel of her.

He shifted her, thrust his tongue into her mouth as she reached behind her, slid her panties to one side and rose up. In a swift move, she impaled herself on him. He seated himself completely inside her. Sheva cried out and Chris groaned at the feeling of it.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd fucked a girl like this. Not even taking the time to take off her panties. Just shoving them to one side. She was damp and tight and the moistness of her panties brushed against him with each thrust into her body.

Her strong legs lifted and brought her down to impale her on him with a fierceness that robbed him of anything but greed.

He fucked her standing, hard and fast, plowing into her until his arms ached from the effort of lifting her and bringing her down again and her thighs shivered from helping. They spilled to the floor, Chris grabbing her knees to shove them back until they were nearly to her ears and she was open and vulnerable to each thrust of his hips. He buried himself so deeply into her, so sharply, he knew it had to be bordering on pain for her but he didn't care. His cock hit her cervix, retreated, and plowed into her again. When she started writhing, he flipped her over, pulling her up by her hair and covering her from behind.

On hands and knees she was more open to him then ever. He grabbed her hips and yanked her into a frenzied ride, his balls slapping against her ass as he fucked her. His hands slid under her, mashed her breasts in his palms, plucked the nipples even as he rode her. She was making a sound not unlike she was dying, keening high in her throat. One hand gripped a breast, the other slid under her to slide into the dampness of her slit and flick expertly over her clit as he thrust hard and fast inside her.

She orgasmed just as he thought she'd scream at him to stop from the pain of such a brutal pounding. The clenching of her around had him thrusting once more until he was buried up to his balls and as deep as her body would allow.

She frantically grabbed at his arm and yanked, even as she writhed and came under him. He had just enough mind to jerk free of her before he came, spilling himself over the long smooth curve of her spine and her delicious ass.

The orgasm nearly ripped him in two. He pulled her body into him, wrapped his arms over her stomach and breasts and held her back to his front as he shuddered from it. Sweat stuck their flesh together as they panted, the silence that filled the air ripe with so many things.

Chris grabbed her jaw and turned her face to the side. Their mouths met in a slow, wet kiss.

He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed. "Sheva…"

She was still shaky from her orgasm. But she started to draw away from him.

"Wait…please."

He held her tight to him and she stopped trying to move. "Sheva…a year ago. Jill…"

Sheva went very still against him. What an idiot she was. Of course. It all made sense now even before he'd even begun explaining. Jill's death. Why hadn't she thought of that before? She'd tried to call at first to talk to him about it but never heard from him. She'd just assumed…

"I cut myself off from everyone. Everyone. It wasn't you. You I wanted more then anyone else on Earth. But I freaked out. I shut down. I'm sorry for it. So sorry."

Sheva freed herself from his arms and rose. "I am too. I liked Jill. I know you two were close."

"We were partners." Chris replied, trying not to feel the loss of her as she gathered her clothing.

"Things are different now, Chris. Whatever the circumstances that brought us here." She slid her top on, started pulling up her pants.

"Is this about Josh?" Chris was in no hurry to get dressed.

Sheva glanced at him. And shrugged. "He's been here for me. He'd like there to be something. I'm dealing with that."

Chris gripped his hands into fists and rose, grabbing his pants. "So this was…what? Goodbye?"

Sheva watched him dress and hated herself for wishing for things that she had no right wishing for. "I don't know. Maybe."

It would be. Of course. When she told him the truth. But she had to tell him.

He had a right to know.

Sheva reached into her pants and withdrew her wallet.

Chris turned to face her. "I love you. Does that matter? I've done nothing but love you for a year now. I fucked up. I hate myself for it. But if there's any chance…"

Sheva shook her head and he hated the tears in her eyes. "I don't know if there's a chance. You'll have to tell me."

Confused, Chris looked down at what she was holding out to him. It was a wallet sized photo. He took it. It was a picture of Sheva grinning and holding an infant.

The baby in the photo couldn't have been more then a few months old and was dressed in cardinal red. It had a stupid looking floppy hat on its head.

Chris lifted his eyes to Sheva's face. It was pale and wide eyed.

Something low in his stomach started to hurt. "Sheva…who is this?"

"That's Gabriel." Sheva whispered. "Your son."

'


	13. Chapter 13

_Dun dun DUN! Now we see where the story takes us. _

_Within these next few chapters I'll begin to tie the story up. *Gasp* But worry not, I shall find another fic within myself to write about. I think I might have to see what a story containing my two favorite boys (Leon and Chris) would entail. I started one a while ago and lost sight of it I might go back and grab at it and flip it around so that its post 5 maybe. And see where that takes me._

_But in this chapter we'll touch base with pieces of 5 again, some things I'll go into. Some things I'll let hang. You'll notice I let some of the action drift off, I figure we've all played 5 so we know how it roles. And for those who haven't, I don't want to spoil anything by going into too much detail._

_Chris is going to find himself in a pretty nasty situation here. If you're offended easily, perhaps you should not read on._

_Without further ado…and again with much love for those still reading this crap!_

_**Chapter **_**13: Pissed off? Better then being pissed on I always say.**

He didn't talk to her for nearly three days.

They continued on their journey, separating from Delta team to head toward the mines when news of Irving being sighted was relayed to them by HQ. They communicated much as strangers do with brief, empty commands and answers over things.

They were nothing but two people trapped in a partnership of business proportions.

On the fourth day of their journey as they found themselves coming upon the mining camp where Irving had been sighted, Sheva finally broke their awkward silence.

"Are you just never going to speak to me again?"

They had ventured together through the darkness of the mines, battled more of the infected and come out the other side. But this was all secondary to the battle raging inside Christopher Redfield.

They were a few yards from the house. From this distance he could make out the mining camp. A truck as parked beneath a long cliff filled with open tunnels and wooden supports. A single house sat off to one side, clearly the office. Ramshackle outcroppings lined the ground in the distance.

The light was dying, sunset casting a distinct glow upon the metal struts and tin roof of the house. The camp looked empty but Chris was just betting they were going to find trouble there.

He stopped, met her eyes. "What do you want me to say? What's the right response? You tell me I have a son. One I never knew about. One who is…what…four months old?"

"Nearly." Sheva replied. "Fourteen weeks yesterday exactly."

"We have sex for one night, over a year ago and you get pregnant. And I'm supposed to just believe that its mine?"

Sheva's sadness evaporated in a heart beat. "You _son of bitch! _I was a virgin. Or did you forget that? Who else's fucking baby would it be?"

Chris felt like a prick. He didn't doubt the kid was his. Hell. He'd known it the second she'd told him. Something had just clicked into place at finding out. But he'd just had to hurt her. And he wasn't even sure why.

She shoved him so roughly in the chest he stumbled. "You mother fucking, cock sucking, pathetic piece of shit! Just because you'll fuck anything with a hole between its legs doesn't me I will!"

"Alright! Alright!" Chris held up his hands. "I'm sorry! But I didn't even _know! _Not a word."

"I tried to call you, you asshole! Remember? Many times. But you wouldn't take my calls. I flew in to try to see you and you weren't there. What else could I have done? Hmm? What?"

Chris tried to touch her arm.

"No!" She shook off his hand. "You don't get to call me a whore and then touch me! I don't even think so! You walked out of my life…OUR life. You don't get to be sorry for it."

She stalked toward the house.

Chris hurried after her and moved in front of her. She lifted a fist.

"Don't!" He held up his hands to ward her off. "I knew he was mine, okay? The second I saw him. But Sheva…I can't help feeling like you kept it a secret…"

"I CALLED YOU!" She was shouting now. "I TRIED! What would you have me do? Sky write it and hope you saw it from whatever fucking tramps bed you'd crawled into?"

"I didn't sleep with anyone else!" He was shouting now to. "Not once. Nobody. Nada. Ever!"

She paused, tilted her head and studied him. "No one?"

"No one. Nobody. I swear."

Sheva shrugged. "It doesn't matter." But it did. A lot. "I'll let you see Gabriel. You're his father. I wanted you to know about him. But that doesn't mean we have to raise him together."

Chris took both of her arms and held her still. "I still want to be with you. You don't want that?"

She met his eyes. She did. She wanted him. She'd always wanted him. But she just wasn't sure she could trust him anymore. She didn't know if she'd survive him running away every time something hurt him.

"I don't know." She answered honestly. "You hurt me Chris. For a long time, I couldn't even figure out why. I tried to deal with the fact that maybe we just had a one night stand. And then I found out I was pregnant…"

Chris let her go when she walked away from him.

"I'm sorry you were alone for that. If I would have known…I wouldn't have let you be alone. You have to know that."

And then she met his eyes again. "I wasn't alone. Josh was there for me."

Chris felt his chest get tight. "As your friend right?"

Sheva looked at him for a long moment. "At first. For a long time."

"Just your friend?"

"Until about a month ago." Sheva watched Chris's cheeks turn red with anger. "Did you think I'd wait forever for you? Gabriel was up all night crying and I was so lonely. So sad. Josh was there, changing his diapers, feeding him bottles. Josh was there and his Daddy wasn't. So when he kissed me, I let him."

And felt nothing, she thought. Nothing. And it had scared the hell out of her.

Chris balled his hands into fists at his sides. "You sleep with him? That what you're trying to tell me? You slept with him. You're with him. And I'm SOL is that it?"

Sheva shrugged, infuriating him. "I don't know if I'm with him. And its none of your business if I slept with him. You and I are not together. Not anymore. And I don't know if we'll ever be again. But Josh was good to me. To Gabriel. And you weren't there."

Sheva brushed passed him. "We have a mission to complete. Let's complete it."

They were coming upon the house now. And Chris had to know. He had to.

"Sheva…don't you love me anymore?"

She stiffened and said over her shoulder, "No. I stopped loving you a long time ago."

Lies. She said it to hurt him. He'd basically called her a whore. She wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt her.

Chris stayed stock still for a long moment. No. No. No? He wasn't prepared for no. I don't know would have been okay. He could have dealt with that. But no?

His chest ached. He knew three things: One-he was madly, crazily, deeply and completely in love with that girl. And he'd fucked up big time. Two-she was the mother of his son. HIS SON. And three-he was going to do everything he possibly could to win her back.

………………………………………………………………………….

Sheva was at a loss. First off, Chris had been awesome the last few days. He'd been completely and totally like the man she'd fallen so hard for before.

He was jokey, arrogant, and constantly making her laugh. (Even though she kind of resented him for it.)

Sheva found herself thinking of Josh one day while she and Chris were finishing up a crazy dash through an execution ground filled with infected tribal members. After dealing with enormous mutant crocs (there was no Animal Planet people narrating) and giant Majinis in masks, Sheva was hoping they'd get a break.

She dashed up a set up stairs and emerged out onto a balcony. They were over looking an enormous compound. A set of steel doors were far away on the other side of the compound, beckoning.

"Those doors should take us out closer to the docks."

Chris nodded, checking the clip on his hand gun. "I'm running low. I'm gonna be shooting blanks here shortly."

Sheva met his eyes, waiting for it. He didn't disappoint her.

"Although I think we both know I'm definitely not shooting blanks right now."

She didn't smile at the stupidity of it. But her mouth did twitch a little.

"God forbid your son have your sense of humor."

"He should be so lucky." Chris turned away with a grin and lifted his arms over his head to stretch.

Sheva watched the line of muscle in his arms, in his shoulders. He was always doing little things like that, things that showed off that awesome body of his to an advantage. She didn't even think he was aware he was doing it.

"We're gonna need to activate some switches…"

Sheva nodded and moved forward to scan the compound. "Yeah. It looks like there's a path leading off to the side up ahead that will probably take us inside that building. Schematics show that the docks aren't far beyond th-"

It really wasn't necessary for him to press up against her from behind and reach gently over her shoulder to take her binoculars. He had his own. He didn't have to touch her at all. But he did.

And she could smell him.

This close, this long between being able to really bathe, he shouldn't have smelled as good as he did. He should have smelled…well not good. He was sweaty, had flakes of drying blood on him, and hadn't showered in days. He shouldn't have made her mouth water just from being against her. But he did. Of course he did.

"There's a bit of a hoof between here and there. And looks like some fire blocking the path from a ruptured gas line. We'll have to shut the line off." He shifted the binoculars and his right biceps brushed her shoulder. It was like someone had set off an electrical current into her spine. She stiffened. "There's a valve a few yards away on a platform. I-"

"I'll turn the valve, you go and wait at the walkway." She shifted and leapt down from the platform they were standing on, already moving. She was desperate to get away from him. She'd felt his stubbly chin brushing against the side of her face, close enough to kiss. And she WAS SO DONE WITH HIM. She didn't want to be tempted. She wanted to hate him.

She heard him chuckling as she ran. Bastard. He knew what he was doing.

Chris leapt down from the platform and started toward the fire filled walk way with a clang of boots on metal.

He was a few steps there when he heard it.

It was the very distinctive, very loud VROOM VROOM of a chainsaw firing up. In slow motion, Chris's head turned. No, he thought on the tail end of what might have been shock, no no no.

But no wouldn't make it any less real. Sheva was turning a valve as fast as she could. A few feet above her, he saw the man. His face was wrapped in blood soaked cloth, one ugly eye protruding. His skinny torso was naked save for sweat and his filthy pants spilled into splattered black boots.

Chris started running, knowing even as he moved; he'd never make it in time.

Over his head set, he shouted, "RUN!"

But she couldn't run. She was boxed in. She'd taken a zip line down to the valve. There was a locked wire mesh door between her and the stairs leading down from the platform. And standing on the other side of the door was death.

Sheva lifted her hand gun and started firing.

Chris was halfway there when something hot whizzed by his head. An arrow?

He glanced up and saw the man firing. Confused, briefly, he froze. Someone hit him from behind, taking them both to ground.

They struggled, Chris face first against the steel ground, the man behind him desperately clawing at his combat gear, tearing at his harness and vest trying to get to flesh to munch. Chris reared up, elbowing him in the face.

The man roared, thrown to the side by the force of it. Chris whipped his body around and scissor kicked him square in the face, leaping to his feet in a surprisingly graceful movement.

The man's neck snapped cleanly, spilling him against the ground.

Chris was already running for the stairs.

He was two steps up when the pain in his lower back made him stumble.

Knowing what it was, he threw his hand back, gripped the shaft of the arrow and broke it off, leaving the tip buried in his skin. He rolled to avoid the next arrow, grabbed the closest cover and returned fire.

He wasn't the best marksman in the BSAA for no reason. One clean shot to the throat and the man with the longbow tumbled from his perch, clanging against metal as he fell. Dead or dying, Chris didn't wait to find out.

He threw himself up the stairs, disconnecting the pain in his back with years of training.

Sheva was at the ledge of the platform, poised on the edge of falling. The Chainsaw Man was advancing on her, barely held at bay by the bevy of bullets flying his way.

Two feet from her he lifted the chainsaw high above his head to bring it down on her for a killing blow.

Chris fired into his back, walking as he shot. The gun bucked, bucked, fired and bucked. Blood erupted in red fountains, splashing on the cold steel floor as the Chainsaw man jerked and Sheva delivered a solid kick to his stomach, sending him careening backward.

Chris's gun clicked empty. He grabbed a spare clip and started to reload.

Sheva did the same.

It was a mistake. A bad one.

The Chainsaw Man staggered just for a moment and then backhanded her.

She was shoving home the clip and didn't see it coming. It caught her in the face, lifted her off her feet and sent her staggering backward.

"SHEVA!"

Everything slowed down. Chris's clip for the handgun fell unloaded to the ground as he raced toward her. But she was gone, plummeting off the side of the platform.

The Chainsaw Man turned and Chris was there, tackling him full on.

They hit the ground, sliding a few feet from the force of it. The chainsaw screaming uselessly, trapped between there bodies.

Chris felt the teeth of the machine ripping into his Kevlar vest as he reared up and brought his fist down, smashing it into that blood soaked face. The Chainsaw Man howled, jerking at his arms, still trying to free the chainsaw.

Chris smashed his fist into that face again, lost somewhere in the rage of the moment. Sheva's face as she plummeted…her face…and the clang that had followed as he body had hit the floor below.

God. GOD.

The chainsaw was finally free, flying up toward his face.

He caught the wrists of the Chainsaw Man and shoved with all his strength, forcing it back down toward the other man's face. They struggled, man and monster, in the dying sun of their epic battlefield.

Another stab of pain in his back, another bow man somewhere shooting at them but Chris didn't stop. He pushed the chainsaw with all the power his body had in it. He might die here. He might. But he'd take this fucker with him to hell.

The Chainsaw Man roared once more before those grinding, winding, whining teeth of his own weapon bit into his face. Blood sprayed, splattered, soaking Chris's torso, his face as the teeth of the weapon destroyed, obliterating flesh and bone as it ground the man beneath its razored edges to nothing but mince meat.

The vibrations and the strength of the weapon had Chris's arms bulging, had him roaring out with his own adrenaline, rage, and effort. He was soaked in blood, felt the red ruin of it and thicker, meatier, wetter things running down his face. The body beneath him finally went limp and Chris reared back, raising the chainsaw from the dead man's grip as he did. Bisected from the rest of its face, that one stared up at him with fear and rage.

Chris spun, the chainsaw sending ribbons of blood spraying around him as he did, splashing the floor and the valve on the platform with arterial paint.

He jerked the chain, hearing the dead weapon roar to life again in anticipation as three men rushed him from the open doorway of the wire mesh.

An arrow whizzed by his face as Chris advanced.

One man rushed in and Chris swung, catching him across the sternum. The chainsaw bucked, rending flesh and spraying blood as it bit through into the bone beneath. The man wailed and Chris ripped the weapon free, opening his body like overly ripe fruit. The chainsaw bit into the neck of the next man, tearing easily through the delicate skin and showing the white of bone beneath before it was yanked away again.

Chris thrust it like a bayonet into the stomach of the third man, bursting his belly like a broken water balloon. Blood and intestines flew free like confetti, flying up into the sky in a macabre parody of the violence occurring.

Another arrow landed in the back of his thigh and Chris's body fell forward without his permission, spilling him to his hands and knees. The chainsaw skittered from his grip and died, smacking with a metal clang against the wire mesh doors.

He snaked a hand around and broke the shaft, throwing it off into the distance. Another hand jerked the machine gun around from its place against his back and raised it.

He unloaded a hail of fire in the direction the arrow had come from. The man on the platform ducked and ran, aiming for different cover.

Chris gained his feet, feeling the wet spill of blood down the back of his thigh and back. He reached around and broke the shaft of the other arrow imbedded in his mid back.

He ran to the edge of the platform and desperately looked down where Sheva had fallen. She wasn't there.

Confused, he wondered if they'd taken her body.

Her body. Her body. No.

She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be. No. No way. Not possible.

Not her. He'd almost died losing Jill. Not Sheva too. He couldn't bear i-

He hadn't even heard the man. So when he was smashed into and knocked to the ground, he was too surprised to do more then brace the impact with his arms.

His teeth knocked together. It wasn't a man at all. It was a woman in a sari with a green head dress. She leapt atop him and backhanded him so hard he went deaf in one ear.

Chris shot a hand up to catch her wrist as she went for another hit.

With her other hand she grabbed a handful of his hair and smashed his head against the ground. His ears rang and his vision went spotty.

Chris drew back his fist to punch her square in the face. She reeled back and let go of his hair but she grabbed his arm with surprising strength and jerked him forward.

She pulled him up until she was sitting on his lap facing him. One of his arms still held her wrist; the other was imprisoned by hers. His legs were trapped beneath her.

Living, she probably hadn't weighed a buck twenty. But the virus in her blood gave her the strength of someone three times her size.

Chris drew back his head to head butt her and she jerked his arm forward.

He had a second to realize what she was going to do before she did it. She bit him, her teeth sinking into his forearm so hard that they hit the bone beneath. Chris shouted at the pain of it and blood gushed up to fill her mouth as she fed on him. He released her wrist and used his free hand jerk off her head dress and fist a hand in her hair. He jerked but she bit harder and the pain spread from his forearm, up his arm to his shoulder.

Chris fumbled his free hand around behind him for the machine gun. The woman used both her hands to grab his arm she fed from and hold it to her hungry mouth.

His fingers closed over the gun and pulled even as she scrambled up off his body and jerked his bleeding arm. As she did, she pulled him forward and caused him to lose the gun as she yanked him onto his stomach.

He heard gunshots somewhere in the distance. The cavalry? Or the bad guys?

Who knew at this point?

The woman pulled him along the ground, Chris desperately trying to grab onto something to stop it and regain his footing.

She jerked his arm again, yanking it up behind his back and forcing him to his knees as she crouched behind him. He threw his hand back, clawing for her face but she caught his flailing hand and pressed it against his chest, holding it there with her own.

She whispered something against his ear in Swahili, her blood soaked mouth pressing against the delicate shell of his ear. He had a moment to wonder if she was going to bite it off before she reared back and sank her teeth into the place where his neck and shoulder met.

Chris whipped his head over, desperately trying to head butt her as the pain exploded from it. She sank her teeth into the muscle and bit down. The only thing that saved him from losing a chunk of flesh into her waiting jaws was the amount of muscle there. She had to work to get her jaws to close.

Blood spilled hot and red down his chest, over his arm. She ground her teeth back and forth in his flesh and the pain went from his neck to his head and into his stomach causing the nausea worse then anything he'd ever known.

He started to wretch from it and the woman released him.

FIGHT BACK, his body screamed even as he spilled forward and vomited all over the steel floor. His body heaved as he threw up on his hands and knees.

The woman grabbed a handful of his hair and swung his fist up. The arm where she'd bit into him didn't want to work full force and the hit was weak, slapping more then punching her in a face awash with his blood.

She back handed him, throwing him off to one side. Hands caught him and dirty fingers smeared through his blood, lifting it to a waiting set of lips to be suckled like sweet nectar.

Chris felt his stomach wretch again and crawled away. He felt the strap of the machine gun snap as it was jerked off his back. A foot kicked him in the stomach and he flipped over, landing on his back.

When that foot came down, he caught it, twisting and throwing it away from him before it could smash into his chest.

He reached up and jerked the knife from his vest, feeling the comforting weight of the blade in his grip.

A face came into view, red eyes snapping, jaws snarling with hunger and Chris thrust it home, burying it to the hilt in one of those red eyes.

Laughter around him as the man reared back, wailing in pain and Chris jerked the knife clean, rolling. He didn't have a weapon save for the knife. This seemed to be his cross to bear.

He was on his feet though with his back to the endless drop of the platform. Sheva had died this way. But he'd be damned if they forced him to jump. He'd rather take as many with him as he could.

One rushed him, hatchet raised above its head and wounded, bleeding, Chris was still a machine. He ducked and spun, throwing his leg out to trip the man and send him plummeting down into the twilit darkness.

"Who's next?" He shouted. "You fuckers! Who's next?"

The man with one eye hissed and something spilled out of his mouth, hideous and plantlike. Chris had seen that kind of the thing before.

"You tryin' to scare me!? Huh? Try harder asshole. I've seen scarier shit then you in the john after a night of all you can eat bean burritos!"

So…apparently in dire circumstances he became Leon Kennedy, subjecting the word to terrible one liners. Well there were worse ways to die.

One eye rushed him followed by another and Chris threw out a boot, kicked one eye in the stomach and grabbed the second man by the throat. He unceremoniously smashed their heads together and spun, tossing them off the platform the same way their buddy had gone.

Clang. Clang. Two more hitting the ground far below.

"That it? Anyone else?" Chris tossed the machete from hand to hand.

The woman another woman and a man stood in front of him. But as dumb as they were, they weren't completely stupid. They hesitated now. They knew he wasn't completely beaten.

Chris was running high on adrenaline. The pain in his body had all but been shut down. His hand was slick from blood that he wiped on the pants leg of his uniform.

"You want another piece of me honey? Come get some."

One man rushed him and Chris chucked the knife. It flew, buried itself between his eyes and had him tumbling backward.

Great. But now he was weaponless.

The other two rushed him in tandem. Chris ducked, caught the sari woman around the stomach and lifted, hoisting her up over his head to toss her. She went up but grabbed him as she flew, pulling him backward and keeping her from being tossed over board like her fallen brothers.

Chris hit his back and the other woman climbed onto his legs. The sari woman grabbed his arms and smashed them against the ground above his head. Pinned, he spit at them.

"Kill me! I give a fuck! Do it! You bastards."

The blonde woman on his legs gripped his vest and ripped. It split like torn paper beneath the excessive strength, bearing his sweat clad, blood stained shirt to the light. The sari woman leaned over him, laughing and speaking Swahili. She smelled like death, rotten road kill left too long in the sun. She licked his sweaty cheek with her bloody tongue, rubbing her bloody face against his as she nibbled his chin.

Her breath smelled like copper and crap all rolled into one. Chris snarled at her as she drew his ear tenderly between her lips and suckled it.

The blonde woman on his legs jerked his shirt up and had her face buried against Chris's stomach; rolling her mouth and chin and nose around like a dog scent marking. The sari woman sitting on his arms grabbed Chris's chin and forced his head back. She bit the right side of his throat, not as hard as before, just playing now. She drew blood and licked it.

The blonde woman bit into the muscle of Chris's stomach, leaving bloody teeth prints behind as she licked.

Like any other guy, he'd always wondered what it would be like to be held down and ravished by two women. But being eaten alive by undead bitches was not the way the fantasy had gone.

More gun shots sounded below them.

"Hear that, whores? That's my rescue comin. If you run now, you might have a chance."

Then, to his surprise, the blonde woman above him laughed and spoke in heavily accented French. "Zat ees not your rescue. Zat ees your death."

She pushed his shirt up and bit into his pec, pulling her head back and causing the muscle to strain. Blood poured and he thought for sure she was going to rip off his nipple and eat it.

"You taste good, _amour. Vous êtes un bon laics._"

She'd just called him a good lay.

Chris hissed at her even as the sari woman gripped his chin hard and thrust her disgusting tongue into his mouth.

Hit bit down, bit and held on. She jerked back and slapped him, hard. He let her, watching her hand shoot up to cover her mouth.

She cursed him, roughly.

The blonde laughed. "You are a fighter, _qui? _But zee strongest are always zee most fun to break."

The sari woman gripped his face and held his jaw shut as the blonde crawled farther down his body. She ran her hands over his pants, groping him.

"I'm going to bite off your cock, _amour. _And 'ear you scream like a leetle girl."

Well…he would have said "Blow me bitch!" but that would have been…pointless. As it seemed she was already planning something not so nice. And the other bitch was holding his mouth shut anyway.

She jerked the zipper of his pants down.

The sari woman laughed and leaned over him. She was speaking Swahili again and licking his mouth with her nasty tongue.

Chris closed his eyes and turned his mind away from what was happening to him. His training allowed him the ability to resist torture. He could tune out, turn it off and go deep into his mind where things were white and sterile. It was like static, like white noise on a radio, empty and dead.

The sari woman slapped him, once, twice and then she spoke in badly broken English. "You will not tune us out. We have your woman, we've taken her. You will watch us, hear us, or we will do worse to her."

Chris felt the emptiness draining away. His blood began to boil with rage. It blackened his soul, spilled from his eyes and if looks could kill, the already dead Sari woman would have burst into flames.

The blonde laughed as she continued to ease down his zipper. "I'm going to enjoy zis. Oh yes…I am."

"Well…that makes two of us bitch." A gun followed that voice, a nice loud boom. The sari woman's head exploded, spilling blood in a hot wash all over Chris's chest where she'd just been about to sink her teeth again.

The blonde released him and spun, inhuman fast. "I will eat your brains!"

Sheva stood there, cast in the light of the dying sun. She had a shotgun aimed at the blonde. "Oh yeah? How you gonna do that without a face?"

The blonde rushed her. Sheva could have shot her. She had plenty of time. But she pistol whipped her across the face instead with the butt of the shotgun.

The blonde spun off to the side and Sheva shot her in the legs with the shotgun, shredding skin and bone. She then grabbed the blonde's hair and smashed her face into the floor. The blonde wailed and Sheva dragged her across the steel. She took her to the edge of the platform, forced her face down against it, mouth open.

"You wanted to eat his cock huh?" Sheva drew back her booth. "Let's see how you like eating shit instead."

Sheva curbed her, smashing her foot into the back of her skull and forcing her mouth to open, breaking her jaw and her neck with the force of it. Chris heard the crunch of bone and the scrape of teeth on steel.

Then silence. Nothing.

Just the whoosh of machinery in the distance.

Sheva dropped to her knees beside him. Her face was a mask of pain and grief. "Jesus, Chris. I'm so sorry. I hurried. But there were so many. I'm sorry it took so long."

Chris sat up. His body ached, bloody and bruised and sore. "That's twice you've saved my life."

Sheva put one gloved hand over a seeping wound on his chest just above his heart. "They were trying to eat your heart out."

"I know." Chris felt a little whoozy so he let her help him stand up. "That wasn't nearly as bad as the fear of losing my cock. That I _really _couldn't have lived without."

Sheva laughed a little at his attempt at humor. "Come on. Let's get you inside. I'll radio for Delta Team. I'll get them to come extract you for medical aide."

He grabbed her arm. "No."

"Chris…"

"Sheva…the data Alpha team collected…there was a picture on it. A picture of…"

"I know. It wasn't her. It can't be her Chris. She's dead."

He let go of her and started walking for the doors, collecting his fallen machine gun as he went. "I have to know. I'm not going anywhere until I know."

Sheva moved toward him, grabbed his arm. He winced as it sent pain up to his ravaged neck. "You're badly hurt. They bit y-"

Something struck her and her face went ghostly pale. She grabbed his other arm and held him. "They bit you Chris. They bit you. They bit you!"

"Say it again Sheva. I don't think they heard you on Pluto."

"The virus…transmission is spread by saliva."

Chris was already shaking his head. "No. That's the T-Virus. This is more like those Ganado detailed in the Kennedy Report. I don't think its spread that way. I think you have to ingest it like that guy we saw back in town or maybe be injected with it."

Sheva scanned his face desperately. "What if you're wrong?"

He met her eyes squarely. "Doesn't change anything. I've still go to know. But you don't. Go home to our son Sheva. He needs you."

"He needs his father!"

"I don't plan on dying. But even if I do…you said it yourself…he doesn't know me. He can't miss what he doesn't know."

Sheva shook her head. "I'm going with you. I'll treat your wounds with what we've got. Some hemostatic medicine, some herbs. But you're not going on alone."

"There's no more orders from here on out. You know that."

"Yeah. I know it."

She pressed a hand against his bloody neck. "Chris…I won't let you die."

He grabbed the handle of the door and turned it. "Ditto baby." And opened it.

The hammer of a gun clicked as they entered the room beyond. "Freeze!"

Sheva yelled, "Josh!"

Josh Stone stood in front of them, looking beat up but pretty healthy. He was a little bruised and bloodied but it didn't look like any of the blood was really his.

"Sheva! You're alive!"

He ran toward her and she embraced him briefly. Chris, feeling even more lightheaded then before, hated that she didn't pull away when Josh kissed her gently on the mouth.

"Where's the rest of Delta Team?" Chris asked stonily as he leaned against the wall to try to get his strength back.

Josh eyed him, noting how bloody he was and shook his head. "We were attacked at the port…and then…." He trailed off and regained his composure. "I ended up here."

"Dead?" Sheva shook her head in denial. "All of them?"

Josh took her hand and squeezed. "I'm sorry Sheva. But why are you still here? Why did you not retreat?"

"I'm not going anywhere." Chris answered stubbornly and let Sheva move over and start treating his wounds. She worked quickly, putting gauze over his bites after treating them with a sterilizing compound and hemostatic medicine to stop the bleeding.

"There was a picture in the data Alpha team collected. It was a picture of Chris's friend."

"A friend?" Josh asked coyly. As if he really wanted to imply more then that.

"Yeah." Chris answered, meeting that challenging look equally. "I have to know if she's still alive. And I'm not leaving until I do."

Josh turned his eyes to Sheva. "I might have a way for us to get out of here. If we can get to the docks, I can score us a boat."

Sheva met Josh's look for a moment before she continued treating Chris's wounds. She prepped a needle, sprayed lidocaine on his skin and started sewing up the ones that needed stitches. "I'm going with Chris."

"Sheva!" Josh admonished. "What about Gabriel?"

Chris kept his eyes on Sheva while she worked. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "I couldn't live with myself if I let him go alone, Josh."

Uncaring that Chris was sitting right there, Josh continued to urge her. "He left you Sheva. And still you would go with him?"

Sheva met Chris's gaze for a long moment. His face was soft but neutral.

He'd almost died a few moments before.

"Yes." She turned to face Josh. "I'm sorry. But yes. It's the only thing I can do."

Josh opened his mouth to argue but shut it again. "Okay. It's your choice." He turned away and paced. "Irving was last sighted at the docks. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll be there waiting."

"Yeah." Chris sighed as Sheva finished sewing him up and prepped a syringe. Hopefully it was morphine. "He's already escaped us once. That's all he gets in my opinion."

Sheva pinched his arm and gave him the shot in the deltoid. "T-Virus Vaccine." She told him. "Just in case."

Chris smiled gently at her. She prepped the syringe again, this time with painkiller.

Josh stepped away from them. "Alright. I'll try to secure a boat. You two…try to stop Irving."

He sounded pissed and heart broken at the same time.

Chris really did feel bad for the guy.

Chris rose, rolled his arms around to test. The painkiller worked like magic. He felt great. Numb. And ready to rumble.

"Got it." Chris hefted the machine gun.

"Wait." Josh turned and picked up a bag from the floor. It held ammo and guns of all varieties.

"Josh…" Sheva breathed in surprise.

"They were dead." Josh said emptily with an undercurrent of pain. "The guns were no use to them."

Chris withdrew a Mossberg 590 shotgun. He took a chest strap with extra ammo and looped it over his chest. The Mossberg he slung over his shoulder with the strap.

Sheva kept the Ithaca shotgun she had and added a sniper rifle to the mix of weapons she toted.

Chris added a few grenades to his ammunition strap across his chest and capped off his gun collection with a Desert Eagle .50 Cal Magnum that would have made Leon Kennedy proud.

He loaded ammo into his side pack and Sheva echoed.

Josh toted the weapons onto his shoulder. "The rest I'll take with me to the boat." Josh grabbed Sheva by the arm, apparently not quite willing to give up the fight yet. He kissed her hard on the mouth.

Chris wanted to punch him in his handsome, helpful face as he exited out a side door.

But then Sheva called, "Josh…be careful."

And something in that tone was too intimate for Chris to even want to begin dealing with.

The door shut and they were alone.

"Chris…."

"Sheva…." Here they would finally have a touching moment, he thought. Where she would weep and hold him close to her and confess undying l-

"Nice fanny pack."

"….."

"………"

"…………."

Chris laughed loudly in the steel room. "It's a standard issue ammunition holder."

"Or a fanny pack." Sheva quipped and started down the hallway in front of them.

What a little minx. He watched her go. So maybe he was carrying a fanny pack. But he knew one thing for certain, the woman in front of him was a mouthy little wench who'd saved his life twice, birthed his son, and escaped deaths clutches countless times…and that was one nice fanny she was packin.

'


	14. Chapter 14

_Here comes the next installment in our little tale. This chapter will start the tie down for the end of the story. I don't really know how its going to end at this point. It could get ugly. It could be great. We'll just have to wait and see._

_I started construction on the Linear Compound, tweaking it a little to explore things with Mr. Kennedy again. And I have another idea brewing for a story that's just built around the characters outside of the action. Although, I'm not much on stories with no action and just love but we'll have to see._

_This chapter is going to tie together a few of the chapters in 5. Again, I'm not expounding too much on what happens in the game, just to avoid spoiling it for some people and save me from stepping on too many toes._

**Chapter 14: Really? WTF.**

For days and nights they moved. Irving flinging them around a boat like toys in the room of a spoiled child.

They fought their way deeper into the quicksand of confusion that Africa had become. Caves and ruins filled with infected tribes of hungry followers. They battled spiders and puzzles and flaming balls of fire that wanted to burn the flesh from their bones. And they survived.

Because at the end of the day, they had each other. And though neither would really admit feelings to the other, the love that bound them to each other was a nearly tangible thing.

They knew Tricell was deeply involved now. They'd come across an underground greenhouse of sorts sporting the Pharmaceuticals logo in great detail. Plants sprang up toward the broken sunlight shining through the craggy rocks above. They weren't just any plants; they were bred to bear the fruit of the Progenitor virus. The Progenitor virus was the beginning of all things evil.

Sheva studied Chris as he moved amongst the flowers, perusing a set of papers he'd uncovered amongst the other things. He moved a little stiffly, indicating the last of the painkiller she'd given him several hours before was beginning to wear off. His uniform was stained black on the green cloth in the places he'd bled through his bandaging.

Most of the bites weren't bad really. But the one on his neck refused to quit seeping and clot.

He'd never admit it. But he was hurting. And it hurt Sheva to see it.

"They were trying to grow the Progenitor virus," Chris said as he read the pages in his hands, "They were trying to breed it."

Sheva nodded, glancing down at a few Tricell containers that had been over turned and were since subjected to an overgrowth of moss and vines. "It seems no one's been down here in ages."

"The experiment didn't go as planned. I can't tell what happened because this journal just cuts off but it sounds like typical Umbrella shit. Some subjects escaped, blah blah blah. Everybody killed."

Sheva nodded and followed Chris down a hallway to head into what would likely be the lab facility on the other side of the greenhouse.

A steel door at the end opened slowly when Chris pushed it open. He had his gun in his hand and aimed out the door before he saw the room beyond.

A huge scrape had taken out a chunk of the wall just beyond them. Blood was splattered all over the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Whatever had been standing there hadn't just been killed, it had been annihilated. And the thing that had killed it was able to slice pure steel.

Not good. Definitely not good.

The room veered to the left and opened into an L-shaped hallway flanked on the sides by yellow doors.

Chris caught something skittering on the ceiling out of the corner of his eye and raised the gun.

It was already gone, farther down the hallway.

Sheva traded her handgun for her shotgun.

"Not a bad idea." Chris did the same.

Side by side, they started down the hallway. At the bend in the hallway, the hall became flanked on either side by glass enclosures. Cells of sorts it seemed that were splashed with blood and chunks of dead bodies but were otherwise empty.

Sheva breathed out and then in, waiting for the stench of death. But the hallway smelled surprisingly sterile. The hallway at the far end dead ended into a smashed in steel door. There was no getting around the mass of twisted metal.

"Shit." Sheva stated, turning to meet Chris's eyes. "What do we do no-"

The frantic skittering sound above them cut her off seconds before something leaped. The hallway was narrow, the room to escape minimal. Chris dove left, Sheva right.

Blood sprayed on her face and she was desperately afraid Chris had been slashed to pieces by the things enormous claws.

But that wasn't the case at all. Chris hadn't really even dove out of the way, he'd gone to one knee and shoved his knife up in the air as the thing had come down.

The weight of the man creature spilled Chris to the floor with it atop him, scrambling those razor sharp talons around in a frenzied movement. It was bleeding all over him, impaled on the knife now thrust into its chest. The hilt of the weapon was grinding into Chris's sternum painfully but he kept on shoving it deeper, put his face into the smelly chest of the beast atop him to keep him inside its attack range, and ground the blade home.

Sheva couldn't shoot. Not with the thing right atop him. There was no way.

She unsheathed her knife and ran toward them.

The thing atop Chris let out a roar.

"Sheva, NO! Do-"

It leapt, knife in its chest and all, high up into the air and stuck to the ceiling again. Blood rained down, splattering Chris in a rusty smelling red wash.

He threw an arm over his face instinctively to shield it and groped for his handgun.

Pulling it, he aimed at the things exposed bulbous brain. It was tan in color and shaped similar to a man save for the talons as long as Chris's legs. And the muscles that moved like water beneath its splitting, rotting skin.

Chris shot into its exposed brain, unloading an entire clip. Sheva echoed him with the shotgun.

The thing screamed, a strange warbling cry similar to a bird, and collapsed to the floor with a loud clang of steel. Its bleeding belly was exposed along with an enormous pulsing heart muscle.

There were downfalls to being inside out.

Sheva leapt on it and thrust her knife into its pulsing heart, ripping the blade out and stabbing it home as the muscle pumped arterial blood in a crimson wash.

Chris gained his feet and started toward them. The thing twitched, scrambled, talons ripping up fine chunks of steel on the floor as it gave its last gurgling breath and died, blood spilling in a red pool around it.

Sheva pulled her knife free as well as his, handing it back to him.

"Nasty thing. What is it?"

They studied it together for a moment. "Don't know. But I've heard Kennedy describe something similar that he saw in Raccoon City. He called it a licker."

"A licker? Why that?"

"I don't kn-"

Glass shattered, raining hot shards down upon them in a burning, stinging mess. Sheva screamed as something wrapped around her throat, once, twice, three times and yanked her back through the jagged mess of the glass cell behind them.

Chris was in hot pursuit, leaping between the jagged teeth of broken glass. Another of the things was hanging on the ceiling, bringing Sheva closer and closer to it, strangling her with its long, purple, putrid tongue.

Licker indeed.

He didn't think, he just fired. He unloaded four rounds from his shotgun into its brain and body. The rapid boom, boom, boom was load in the artificial silence.

It dropped Sheva to the floor and leapt from the ceiling, scuttling faster then possible along the wall. Chris fired again but the shot was knock off course when it whipped its tongue at him and hit him right alongside the face, throwing him back.

Sheva took it down as it tried to scuttle back to the ceiling with another shotgun blast to the head. It hit the floor, wailing, and then went still.

Chris clutched the side of his face, wincing. "Ow."

"Let me see." And she sounded gentle as she touched his face, pulled his hand away and looked. "You'll be bruised but it didn't break the skin."

He looked into her face from inches away. "Good. Can't be fucking up my face after all. It's the only part worth a shit."

One of her hands rested on his left bicep, the other was gently holding his chin. She couldn't help it, really, she couldn't. He'd just saved her life.

She ran her thumb over his lips. "It's not the only part."

His insides quivered. He wanted to say it was just sex but it wasn't. It was so much more then that.

Sheva pulled away and started toward a door on the opposite side of the cells. "Come on, Redfield. Suck it up. It's just a little love tap."

Ah. So that's how she wanted to play it. Cool and sarcastic. He could play that game.

He strode toward her and gave her a solid smack on the bottom as he passed her.

She jumped and shot him a shocked look.

"Ah suck it up, Alomar. It's just a little love tap."

………………………………………………………………………………

"They're coming." Excella purred into his ear as she disconnected from her transmission to Redfield and his female companion. She then ran her nails up his chest. "That man, Chris, he has the hots for you, you know."

Wesker was watching the video surveillance. Redfield and his bitch were now making their way toward the main chamber. His preparations weren't complete yet. It was annoying.

Much like the tongue that was sliding into his ear.

Excella playfully massaged his crotch. Did she really think he'd get an erection from that kind of thing? Gods didn't need sex. Didn't she know this?

On the screen, Redfield was battling with a horde of the E19's jokingly referred to as "lickers". They'd made their way through the cells and found the information telling them that Jill Valentine had been a test subject. Now they knew that she was there somewhere. Now he knew that she'd survived.

It wasn't long before he knew Wesker had as well.

Of course, you couldn't kill a god.

"Excella…they'll be at the Monarch Room shortly. I think you should make them welcome."

Excella pouted. "But I wanted to worship you."

Wesker wanted to slap her caressing hands away. But she was still useful to him. The woman had a tendency to pout if she was turned away too harshly.

Instead, he cupped her cheek and gave her a smile. "I want to have all the time in the world for that as well, darling. But these nuisances must be dealt with first."

Vanity appeased, Excella rose. "Well I will make them feel at home then."

Wesker rose and turned to the person standing against the far door. "They're here. Prepare yourself."

"Yes." The person answered in a strangely echoing mechanical voice.

Excella opened the far door and paused, looking over her shoulder. "Albert, darling, will you be joining us?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

……………………………………………………………………………………

Chris was sore by the time they hit the doors that would take them into the inner sanctum of the lab. He'd had to push a crate while fending off the damn lickers to break into the control room and allow them to drop the bridge across the chasm leading to the doors.

Something good had better be on the other side, he thought darkly to himself.

"Do you need another shot?" Sheva asked him gently as he went to open the doors.

Chris rolled his shoulders. "I'm okay for now I think. There's not much left. Let's hold off."

"Alright."

He gestured to her and she went to the opposite side of the doors. They counted together to three and pushed the doors open, Chris going high, Sheva low.

The room was large and echoing. It was like a grand foyer in an old castle. Dual staircases climbed either side of the stone room to a balcony with a set of elevator doors perched right in the center.

Standing in the center of the room was-

"Excella Gionne!" Sheva shouted and both them aimed at her.

Excella turned, clapping. Chris had to admit that the leading member of the Tricell Corporation, one the biggest supporters of the BSAA, and a world wide renowned humanitarian had a nice rack. It was clearly exposed in a form fitting white dress that left little the imagination, looked cheap, and probably cost more then he made in a year.

She was just another liar. Another corporate vampire with too much money corrupted by her own greed and megalomania.

Chris thought about shooting her before she even opened her mouth.

But he had to know.

"Where's Jill! What have you done with her?"

Excella cocked a hip and stuck a well manicured hand on it. "Do you really think I would tell you, even if I knew?"

Chris cocked the hammer on the gun. "Start talking bitch. Or we'll find out if your expensive boob job can hold up to .50 calibur rounds."

"Chris Redfield."

Chris simultaneously felt the greatest rage he'd ever known and the most amazing urge to vomit at those smooth dulcet tones.

"Wesker!" The gun changed from the quickly fleeing Excella to the man coming down the stairs.

"We last met at the Spencer Estate wasn't it?" Wesker smiled as he came toward them. There was anticipation all over his face.

"You rat bastard, two faced fuck! Where's Jill?"

Wesker tilted his head, rather like a curious dog. "Jill? Who's Jill?"

He wasn't going to talk. Of course he wasn't.

Sheva didn't wait for it. She raised her gun and fired.

Wesker moved, like water. There, then gone, then there again. Chris raised his gun to fire as well.

There was a change in the air. A shifting of matter and Chris turned, too slow.

The man that had rescued Irving at the mining camp was suddenly beside him. He leapt, gracefully in the air and delivered a spinning back kick that knocked Chris clean off his feet.

He hit the ground and skidded even as the man turned to Sheva, punched her right in the face and then jumped. The man locked his long legs around Sheva's waist, grabbed two handfuls of her hair as she reeled, and flipped.

Sheva went up, up and came down hard even as the man rolled out of the flip into a perfect cartwheel.

Wesker came to stand beside the man.

Chris and Sheva both gained their feet and took aim again.

"Shall we dispense with the theatrics?" Wesker jerked the hood from the head of the man.

Sheva gasped. Chris's hands automatically lowered his gun. "Jill!"

Jill Valentine stood before him. His Jill. His buddy. His pal. His partner in crime. She was blonde now, ice blonde, and pale. Her once short hair was long enough to trail in a slick ponytail down her back. And her blue eyes were sightless, empty, staring at him as if they'd never snuck out at night at the academy and gotten drunk on the training field.

Wesker patted Jill's shoulder companionably. "So…what do you say Chris? Two on two? That's fair after all."

Chris glanced at Sheva. "Don't hurt her. Try not to."

Sheva nodded. "I understand."

Wesker lifted his shoulders and rolled them. "Seven minutes." He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Seven minutes is all I can spare to play with you."

At this point in the story, dear readers, I find its safe to say that our hero and his heroine were greatly outmatched. The genetically altered Jill Valentine was obviously being controlled by the diabolical genius that was Albert Wesker.

Our hero and his lady didn't have a chance in hell of defeating them. But perhaps someone had once said the same of Saint George as he went to take on the infamous dragon. Perhaps someone said this of David before he faced Goliath. Or Captain Ahab and his literary nemesis Moby Dick. The underdog, it seems, had been rising for centuries. And so it would be this way again for Chris Redfield and Sheva Alomar.

Because Chris Redfield was a man driven by vengeance. And vengeance when faced with adversity was the greatest of all weapons to bear.

Chris left Jill to Sheva and took Wesker.

He rushed the other man, realizing that his gun was useless to him. Bullets were wasted.

Wesker toyed with him. A punch was turned into an answering slap. When Chris spun to kick him, Wesker caught his leg and sent him spinning away much like a dancer. He'd shift, move, teleport and be behind him kicking him in the back of the knee, in front of him punching him in the sternum hard enough to knock him flat on his ass.

Chris knew they needed a change of tactic. Jill was somewhere on the balcony fighting Sheva. He could hear rapid gunfire from Jill and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Chris back toward the far corner of the room. A door was there waiting. Maybe he could get beyond it and take out the lights. Wesker might be super human but maybe, just maybe, his night vision wasn't.

Chris hit the door with his shoulder, yanked the knob. Locked. Fuck. Figured.

He turned and met Wesker's foot right into his stomach. The kick was so hard Chris was lifted up and thrown back; his body slammed into the locked steel door and forced it clean off its hinges. He hit the wall on the opposite side and collapsed next to a staircase leading up.

Scrambling, his belly threatening to spew chunks from the pain, he started up the stairs on hands and knees. He trusted Sheva to handle Jill. He had to focus on Wesker.

At the top of the stairs, he heard Wesker moving toward him. He was just casually walking. No hurry at all, Chris figured, when you had the strength of a dozen men.

Chris felt like some damsel in a horror flick. You know the type. They run up the stairs in a desperate panic and their pursuer walks quietly after them and still somehow manages to catch them, disembowel them, and never break a sweat.

He blasted the first hanging lantern he came across, feeling the stinging rain of the hot coals before he ran farther down the hallway. The second light went out with another blast from the shotgun.

The hallway was plunged into semi-darkness. Chris fumbled a little along the wall to his left, threw his back against it and waited. He held his breath and only breathed through his nose when he absolutely had to.

Wesker was talking, making himself a better target then he realized, "Don't you understand Chris? The world is full of stupid humans. Inferior breeders based on primal instincts and pointless brain function. The body is capable of so much more then that. There are things beyond humanity that are so much more rewarding."

Wesker paused, glancing up and down the hallway. "Don't you realize why I chose you all those years ago for the S.T.A.R.S? Do you think it was your marksmanship? Or graduating in the top three percent out of the Academy? It wasn't that at all."

The rapid gunfire had fallen silent outside in the main chamber.

"I watched you for weeks before I selected you. I hand picked you because one night it was pouring down rain. The ground was like a swamp. And I was standing in the office of Captain Reynolds and I saw a lone man out on the training field. He was pushing himself harder then any human I'd ever seen. The elements beat at you, your body was obviously tired and exhausted, but there you were, pushing on."

Chris felt his stomach curdling with each word.

"And when you rose, for a moment in a flash of lightening, I saw your face. There was such cold determination on it, such triumph. And such rage. Such rage for a human. I've never felt rage. I've never felt anything really save for curiosity. Some shrink told my Mother Superior at the orphan edge that I was a sociopath. Incapable of human emotion. Being a woman of god, she told him I was just a lonely little boy." Wesker laughed and it echoed down the hallway.

Chris figured he was midway down it now. Not much longer. Keep talking, dumbass. Make yourself an easy target.

"But I saw in you what you could be. What I could mold you into being. I formed the S.T.A.R.S unit for you. Because I knew you would be the perfect test subject and if you survived, well…then you could be so much more then that. I put you on the Alpha team because I couldn't let you be the best. Not right out of the gate. I wanted you to earn it. Don't you realize it yet? The spill at the Spencer Estate was perfect. I organized it just for you. I wanted to see what you could do."

Chris's chest hurt. All those people. All those people in Raccoon City. All those people on his team. Dead because Wesker was bored. Dead because Chris was a shiny new toy that he wanted to play with.

"And look what you've become. Such strength. Such determination. I find it tedious of course. And the novelty is wearing off. But if you would just stop, just consider…the things I could show you. The things I could do for you would be beyond anything you could ever imagine."

That sounded….vaguely perverted. And beyond creepy.

Sheva's voice whispered in the headset. "I'm on the stairs. I'm coming up behind him. Draw him toward you. I'm going to take him out from behind."

Chris stepped out into the hallway, into his path, just like that.

Trust was an amazing thing.

Wesker paused and then started toward him.

"Tell me," Chris said quietly, "What could you do for me?"

Wesker smiled. And there was nothing human in it. "What I've done for Jill is nothing. She resisted the change. Fought it." Wesker was a three steps away. "But imagine what it could be like if you didn't fight it. Uroboros selects those who are worthy."

"You think I'm worthy."

Wesker's smile spread wider. Two steps away. "No. I think you're a fool."

His hand shot out, latched around Chris's throat, quick as a snake. "And I grow tired of fools."

He squeezed and Chris felt the air being cut off to his brain. Wesker drew his hand back, made it flat and open. He was going to rip his heart from his chest.

Three booms went off, quick and loud. Wesker's face registered surprise as he stumbled forward from the shots, releasing his grip.

Chris didn't wait. Didn't think. He punched him. He right hooked him, left hooked him and felt the crunch of glasses beneath his fist. Chris put every ounce of strength he had into it. He hit him with a solid right upper cut to the chest, another left hook. He elbowed him in the jaw, kicked him in the knee cap and finished it off with a roundhouse punch to the face that sent the other man face first into the floor.

Chris shook his hand. His right one was numb from the impact. It had felt like punching pure steel.

"Who's the fool now?" He whipped the shotgun around and fired.

The heavy round tore into the suddenly empty stone beneath him.

Face first on the floor and Wesker had still moved like lightening.

Sheva let out a scream down the hallway. The distinctive sounds of fighting had Chris running.

He went down the stairs and out into the light.

Sheva was being drug up the stairs by her throat.

Wesker tossed her negligently away when he reached the top. "I'm afraid our time here is up."

Sheva hit the wall and slid down it, shaking her head to clear the ringing.

Chris aimed the shotgun at him as he reached the top of the stairs. The other man was entering the elevator.

"Wesker! Stop!" He started to fire and the gun was knocked from his hands. A fist racked his jaw, a foot kicked him clean in the face. His arm was wrenched behind his back, his ankles kicked out from beneath him. Sheva, rushing, was dispatched by a solid kick to the stomach that sent her tumbling down the stairs.

Jill climbed atop him, hyper extending his arm and placing her knee on his shoulder to hold him against the ground.

"Jill!" Chris ground out as the pain of possible dislocation wrenched the hiss from between clenched teeth. "Jill Valentine! It's me Chris! Don't you recognize me?"

Jill's face twitched. She shuddered above him and whispered, "Ch..Chris?"

She let him go, stumbling away. Chris sat up slowly.

Jill was shaking her head, gripping it between her hands. Sheva helped Chris to his feet.

"Interesting." Wesker remarked and pulled something from his pocket. "Still resisting at such an advanced stage. Charming. But futile."

He hit a button on the device.

Jill screamed and clawed at her chest as her body bowed and shook like she was having a seizure.

Chris ran to her and grabbed her shoulders. "Jill! Look at me!"

"Now that your partner has arrived, I think I'll leave you two to catch up." Wesker moseyed into the elevator. "Have fun watching Jill suffer."

"Wesker!" Sheva hit the closed elevator doors. "Bastard!"

Jill knocked Chris away and grabbed at the front of her skin tight cat suit. She ripped it open, clawing at some kind of device imbedded into the skin of her chest.

"Jesus!" Sheva exclaimed.

"Yeah. We have to get that thing off of her."

Jill's face changed from tortured to empty. And then she smiled. And the smile was cold, dead, and very very Albert Wesker.

She backed up toward the balcony edge. And beckoned them with one hand to come for her.

Chris glanced at Sheva. "Don't hurt her. Please."

Sheva nodded. "Let's try to knock her down and pry that damn thing off her."

It wasn't the wisest of plans. But it was better then putting a bullet in his best friend.

For a moment, she'd remembered him.

He was hoping they could still save her.

Jill laughed insanely and then leapt backward over the railing, flipping and landing gracefully on the floor beneath.

It was a fall that would have seriously hurt a normal person.

"Shit." Sheva said with feeling.

"Yeah." Chris rolled his neck and popped it. "Let's do this."

The two of them ran for opposite stairwells ready and willing to do whatever it took to save Jill. Although both of them were desperately afraid the only way to save her…would be to put a bullet right between her empty eyes.

'


	15. Chapter 15

_So we race toward the end buh dum dum. This story has a few chapters left in it. We'll see where it takes us. A shout out to my faithful reviewers. I love that you guys want me to continue on with this bad boy but I think I'll bring it to its conclusion soon so, like Seinfeld, it doesn't out live its glory. _

_I'll throw a bit of a wrench into the works here. Something to keep the love story tangled up. Something I was surprised to find come out of me. Hopefully it makes as much sense to ya'll as it did to me upon rereading it._

**Chapter Fifteen: Something is afoot at the Circle-K**

Chris hit the wall and slid down it. His ears were ringing from the force of the blow.

Jill, supersized on juice, packed a mean punch.

They'd been fighting for…for…he didn't know how long. His mouth was bleeding, his left eye was trying to swell shut. His shoulder ached, his ribs hurt, his left knee felt like it might have been trying to give out on him.

Sheva was fairing a little better. But not much.

Currently, Jill was delivering a high powered kick to Sheva's stomach that set the other woman on her ass.

"We have to get that thing off of her Chris!"

Chris shook of his fatigue and ran at Jill. She turned, threw out her left leg. He caught her ankle, twisted, watched pain spring across her features.

Baring his teeth, he yanked. She came off her feet because, inhuman or not, she still only weighed maybe a buck twenty. And Chris Redfield was nearly twice that.

He caught her arm and tossed her. Just like that. She went up, over, and flipped onto the floor with a loud thud.

Not waiting for her to gain her feet again (which she did almost as fast as Wesker) Chris climbed atop her. He stuck a knee on either side of her hips, grabbed the thing on her chest in his fist and started yanking.

Jill started trying to hit him with her hands.

"Sheva!"

Sheva was there, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the floor.

Jill let out a scream similar to an animal cornered.

"Jill! It's me, Chris! Don't you recognize me?" She reared up knocking Sheva's hands away and grabbed a handful of his hair.

Two sets of blue eyes stared at each other. One-empty of emotion, the other filled with desperate grief.

"Jill! Listen to me! You don't want to do this!" She started yanking and Chris slapped her, open handed, hard as he could across the face.

Jill's mouth split open, spilling blood on his palm. He shook her, hard, and she kicked him.

Either she was lucky or just that good because she delivered a kick right to his fucking nuts.

Nausea burst over him and he spilled to the side on his hands and knees trying not to vomit. Good thing he had a son already because after that blow he was vaguely afraid he'd be shooting blanks from here on out.

Sheva and Jill were fighting now. Jill delivered a solid blow to Sheva's chest but the other woman countered, kicking Jill's legs out from under her. Sheva leapt up, locked her thighs around Jill's face (this might have been exciting in other circumstances) and flipped her.

Jill smashed into the wall and hit the floor, still.

"Hurry!"

Sheva climbed atop her this time, grabbing the device on her chest and yanking for all she was worth.

Chris gained his feet, slowly, achingly and stumbled toward them.

Jill was starting to come to again.

She kicked Sheva away and started to pull the machine gun strapped to her back.

"Oh HELL NO." Chris grabbed the barrel of the gun and jerked. Startled, Jill let him take the weapon.

He turned it on her. "Jill, listen to me. I don't want to hurt you."

Jill tilted her head to study him, like a curious dog. "Are you going to shoot me then?" Her voice had echoes of metallic things in it. Like a robot. Or a machine. "Going to shoot your old partner?"

He stared into those empty eyes and knew he couldn't save her. He couldn't. There was nothing left of Jill in those eyes.

His heart clenched tight in his chest. "I'm sorry Jill. God…I would have come sooner if I'd known." He lifted the gun to aim it at her delicate face.

"Chris!" Sheva shouted, "Get down!"

He did, just like that. And Sheva fired above his head.

There was a loud sizzling sound, a squeal of metal sparking. Jill screamed and clawed at the device buzzing and burping fire on her chest.

Sheva had put a bullet in it. It wasn't a bad idea. But it was a risky one. One misplaced shot and Jill was worm food.

Chris took advantage of Jill's moment to grab her ankles and jerk. She spilled onto her back, screaming.

Chris grabbed her arm and flipped her over, yanking her back against his front, pinning her arm up behind her against his chest. Her other arm was trapped between them, pressed against her side.

Chris grabbed the sizzling device in his hand and jerked. It clung like a stubborn tick draining her life even as a parasite drains blood. He dug his fingers into the delicate skin of her chest, wedging them under the corners of the device. He could feel that it had metal tendrils pushing through her skin into the muscle beneath. He just hoped it hadn't been attached directly to her breastbone. If so, he was likely to break her bones trying to get it free.

Jill bucked her body, screamed and gnashed her teeth like a mad woman. Sheva kept the gun trained on her.

Chris put his mouth against Jill's ear and whispered gently even as he used every muscle in his body to hold her still and slowly, so slowly, pry the damn thing off her. "It's okay Jill. It's okay. It's me, it's Chris. Chris Redfield. Remember that time you missed the bus to Quantico for that briefing on biological agents? I had to get off in Albuquerque and double back to meet you. And then the truck broke down out in the fucking desert and we ended up playing marrying, date, or dump for like six fucking hours waiting for someone to drive by and help us. That you would date Carrot Top over Christopher Walken was appalling to me. I'm your friend, Jill. Your friend."

Her struggling lessened just a little while he talked. It seemed the sound of his voice was almost soothing for her.

His fist surrounded the device finally. One good jerk and he'd free it from her body…or break every bone in her chest trying.

Chris pressed a kiss against her temple. "I'm sorry Jill." And jerked.

Metal snapped, sizzled, sparked and burnt the skin of his hand. Jill screamed as her chest was singed from the heat but the device came free and Chris tossed it to the ground. Blood oozed from the holes in her chest as Jill slumped forward in his arms.

He turned her, gently, holding her in the cradle of his left arm. His right hand, sore from being burned, cupped her face gently.

"Jill…"

Jill's eyes fluttered open. "Chris…?"

He smiled at her and brushed his fingers through her feathery bangs. "Blonde works on you babe." His voice wavered a little before he let out a watery laugh.

Jill smiled up at him weakly. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

Jill's eyes turned to Sheva. "I'm sorry. I couldn't control my actions but I was still aware…oh god."

Sheva smiled at her gently. "It's alright."

Jill turned her eyes back to Chris. She reached up a hand and cupped his face, playing her fingers over the stubble there. "You're looking grisly, Red. Bout time for a shave."

Chris laughed weakly and felt a tear squeeze from the corner of his eye and trail down his nose.

Jill's smile wavered as her eyes filled. "Don't do that, damnit. Don't. You know my policy."

Chris pulled her gently up until he held her in his arms. "Nobody cries alone in your presence."

Jill put her face against his neck. "That's right. And I'll tell all the other he-men you cried. They'll laugh at you at the next Roid Ragers club meeting."

Chris snorted and drew back as he helped her to her feet. "Roids? Bah. This is all me baby."

Jill palm his right arm and her hand hardly covered half of it. "Riiiight. My ass."

Chris kissed her forehead and winced at his split lip. "Your ass looks lovely in that spandex."

"Yours looks like shit in those peon patrol pants."

Chucking her under the chin, Chris drew out his communicator. "I'm gonna radio HQ, get us an evac point."

Jill shook her head. "No. You have to go after Wesker."

He paused and met her eyes. "What?"

"You and Sheva have to go after him."

"I'm not gonna leave you here!" Chris said in outrage.

"I'll be fine. Chris…" She grabbed him by the front of his vest and shook him. He had "pigheaded" written all over his face. "You have to stop him. You're the only one who can."

"Jill-"

"Give me a gun." She returned. "Come on. Give me one. I'll go with you."

Chris looked appalled. "You're wounded. You can't go anywhere."

Jill cocked an eyebrow. "So are you. Worse then me I might add."

"I'm fine."

"Right. You've got bandages on your neck and uniform is dark with blood on your chest. Your face is busted up and you keep favoring your right side. You've probably got a busted rib or at least a badly bruised chest. I KNOW I hurt you pretty good. You took it easy on me remember? I didn't deserve it but you did. Maybe Sheva and I should go on and you should get a med evac."

Now he just looked HIGHLY offended.

"I'm _fine."_

Jill took his arms and held him still as he started to do what Chris Redfield did best when he was at his most stubborn. It was a bit like a grown up version of the pee-pee dance. "Chris, Wesker is going to release Uroboros. You have to stop him. He's going to kill thousands with it. Don't you trust your partner?"

He met her eyes for a long moment. She could see the indecision on his face before he said, "Alright."

Jill held out her hand. "Give me a gun."

Chris looked at her for a few heartbeats. "I can't."

"What?"

"We don't know how bad his control on you is. Maybe the device isn't all of it. I can't. I have to get you evaced and debriefed."

Sheva touched his arm. "Chris…you want to leave her here?"

Jill and Chris were facing each other squarely. "He's right." She finally said, "He's right. God damnit."

Chris finally nodded once, hard, and turned stepping into the elevator without another word.

Jill turned to Sheva, met her eyes and there was worlds of unsaid things in that gaze. Judgement, acceptance, and so much more. It was in that moment that Sheva Alomar understood two things: Jill Valentine wanted to hate her…but respected her and she was desperately in love with Chris Redfield.

Jill's eyes apologized to Sheva for so many things before she moved toward the elevator.

Sheva remained where she was knowing that whatever was about to happen…had to happen. It had to. And being the other woman in love with the man on the elevator, she had to let it be his choice. And she couldn't begrudge the blonde her chance…she couldn't. Jill Valentine had been in his life long before Sheva. And he'd grieved for her so desperately when he thought she'd died that Sheva knew, even if he didn't, that some part of Chris Redfield loved Jill back.

Jill put a hand against the elevator doors as they started to close.

Chris turned and faced her. "I'll radio for an evac for you." He looked stoic.

Jill fisted a hand in his vest and pulled him forward. "Under the mind control…" She said quietly, "I spent so much time inside my own head. I couldn't stop what…what Wesker made me do. I couldn't. So I tried to focus my mind on other things…anything. And all I could think about…"

Chris's heart was pounding so hard he could hear the blood in his ears.

"…was you." Jill cupped his cheek. "I knew you were somewhere dying inside. I could almost FEEL you in me."

"Jill…"He whispered because he didn't know how to feel. He didn't want to hear what he knew she was going to say. He didn't know how he felt about it. Didn't know what to feel.

"I joined S.T.A.R.S for you." She said quietly. "I did. I'm a selfish bitch. I didn't do it for the good of the people. I did it to be close to you. That night…that night at the Academy when you kissed me. God…I knew in my gut you were it for me. And you laughed and said it was like kissing your sister…and I went with it. Twelve years of being your sister. I dated, I even convinced myself you were right for a long time."

Chris was stuck somewhere between throwing up and passing out. Interesting reaction considering things.

"I wanted you in my life in whatever way I could have you. I knew…if I pushed it. If I tried for more…you'd either laugh, and kill me, or I'd lose you." Jill met his eyes squarely and he didn't look away. "But I thought I'd lost you forever. I thought I'd be trapped forever inside myself unable to touch you again or hear your voice or smell that horrible after shave you wear."

Horrible?!

"Chris…" Jill cupped both of his cheeks. "Your mission brought you here. But you could have left. You could have gone home when things went bad. Why didn't you?"

"Jill…"

"Why didn't you?" Jill demanded.

Chris was very aware of Sheva trying not to eaves drop. She'd moved farther away to radio HQ and let them know about Jill's evac. He ached in places now that had nothing to do with physical pain. He was torn in half and didn't know how to stitch the pieces back together.

Finally he answered, "I had to find you." Quietly, he said it, with great feeling. It sounded harsh and low from his mouth.

Jill smiled a little. "Yeah. You came for me. Don't you understand? You came for me. Just like I would have come for you."

Chris didn't know what he was feeling. It was true, everything she said was true. He had come for her. And he did love her. Of course he did. Like he loved Claire. Like a sister. Right? Right? God he didn't KNOW.

He hadn't ever considered Jill that way. Not in years. Not since that one time they'd tried it out. And yet…yet…was there truth to what she was saying? Had he just been suppressing his own feelings?

He knew he loved Sheva. He knew that. There was no doubt there. He should tell Jill that. He should tell her there was no chance for more with them. He should tell her right this second.

But then she kissed him.

She pulled him down and kissed him.

Gently. Softly. She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him.

He was frozen, eyes wide, staring into hers from inches away. His lips didn't move. They held still and closed.

He'd thought she was dead. For a whole year he'd destroyed his life grieving for her. He'd torn himself to pieces, cut Sheva out of his life for this woman, cut EVERYONE out in grief over her.

And now she was here, alive. And confessing her love for him. And Sheva was the mother of his son, the woman he loved…and she'd rejected him. She'd told him she was maybe involved with Josh. And that she didn't love him anymore.

And Jill was…was…

Ten minutes ago he'd known the answer to that.

Jill started to pull away with something next to shame on her face. He'd waited to long to respond. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't know how he felt anymore. He needed time. But the look on her face said he was out of it.

He couldn't let her walk away from him, after all this time of thinking her gone from his life forever. Not like this.

He owed it to himself and to her and to Sheva to find out. And if anyone had ever said to him there would come a time when he was torn between the two most wonderful women in the world, he'd have laughed in their face.

Chris shook his head as she started to pull away. He grabbed the back of her ponytail and pulled her into his body.

He was sorry for the pain it would cause Sheva. Sorry for it. But he had to know.

Chris leaned down and kissed Jill.

Across the room, Sheva felt her heart break. It shattered into a thousand pieces and fell out all over the floor.

She couldn't turn away. She had to watch. She'd known when Jill had gone over there what would happen. She'd seen it coming. The other woman had all but apologized for it. Part of her had even known Chris would respond.

Hell…partly it was her fault. She'd rebuffed him countless times since they'd made love. She'd turned him away. Turned him out. Basically told him she was with Josh. What did she expect? Him to throw himself on the floor and beg for her to take him back?

Yes, she admitted, maybe. Part of her did.

Sheva finally turned away and wiped a hand over eyes. No. She would NOT cry. NO WAY. But she did, quietly, because she loved him. Even if she didn't deserve him.

The kiss started soft.

He intended to give her, if it was to be their only kiss, something sweet to remember him by. Something to tell her that he loved her, even if he wasn't IN LOVE with her, and that he valued her.

But something funny happened. His belly tightened like he'd eaten three day old pizza.

He thought, _oh shit. _And Jill opened her mouth.

He should have pulled back. Should have hugged her and begged her not to hate him because he didn't feel that way about her but her tongue touched his lips gently and something happened…he got hard.

His body responded instantly. He pulled her tighter into him and plumbed her mouth with his tongue. She tasted minty and fresh. And she made some small tiny moan in the back of her throat that twisted his guts and had his body leaping in reaction.

Finally they separated. Chris gazed down at her in wonder.

He supposed it wasn't rocket science. He was a man. She was a beautiful, sexy woman that he was intimately involved with in some fashion. Naturally his manly bits would find her desirable.

That didn't mean it was anything more then that. Right?

Jill drew back from him. "That wasn't for goodbye." She said quietly. "It was good luck."

Chris, flabbergasted at the feelings churning in him, couldn't say a freaking thing.

Sheva and Jill stopped beside each other, meeting eyes. They were as different as night and day. Sheva exotic and sexual with her dark eyes and hair, her cocoa colored skin and earthy sensuality. Jill, ethereal, as white as the moon on a clear night with eyes like the sky just after dawn and hair as pale as freshly woven sunlight. Two sides of the spectrum, two totally different women…and Chris lost somewhere between the earth and the moon unable to figure out which was meant for him.

"Take care of him." Jill said quietly with meaning.

Sheva nodded, straight faced and stepped onto the elevator. The doors swished shut on them.

The silence in the elevator was pregnant with so many things.

"Sheva…"

"You don't have to say anything. You don't. I understand. Don't worry about Gabriel. You can be in his life as much as you want."

He hurt. He didn't know why he hurt so bad. He didn't know what to do or say or feel. GOD. He wanted someone else to give him an answer.

"Sheva…I didn't know how she felt. I swear."

"I know that." Sheva met his eyes. "You didn't know how you felt either. I knew that too. We're not together, Chris. You don't owe me anything."

Chris took her hand, rather desperately. "I love you. I do love you."

Sheva smiled, a little sadly. "I know that. But you love her too."

Chris looked so distraught Sheva felt bad for him. "I don't know. I thought I knew. I don't know."

Sheva nodded, sadly. "You need to figure that out. You both deserve that. But…you cut me out of your life for the memory of her. I think we both know that means something."

The elevator doors pinged open, showing the setting sun on the horizon. Night was coming, fast and furious. The world was bathed in a myriad of colors, gold, red, bronze, and orange. A ship lay in the distance with Wesker walking across the deck without a care in the world.

Whatever else they knew, they knew this: Wesker had to be stopped. First and foremost, there was nothing else that mattered as much as that. Everything else…would have to wait.

Chris was just desperately afraid that the waiting was going to kill him faster then Wesker ever could.

'


	16. Chapter 16

_I want to briefly address concerns over Chris and Sheva's situation. In case it hasn't appeared somewhat obvious at this point, Chris is in a bit of a conundrum. But he is a man and we must forgive him his moments of indecision. Also we cannot really blame Jill for her feelings for our hero can we? But the good news is I don't think much will come of this particular moment. I have other plans for Jill that I cannot reveal here in this moment. _

_And seeing as Sheva is my current girl of the moment, I don't see her losing her man (permanently) to any other woman. But they can't end up together until the very end or what good would it be?_

_Hopefully, disgusted or not, you keep coming back to find out what happens next._

_Sixteen will be one chapter from the end I think. I like the idea of ending this fabulous journey on lucky number 7. And it won't end the same as 5, fair warning. Artistic liberties and all that._

**Chapter 16: The woman of his dreams**

Chris Redfield was generally not a man given to confusion. So on this particular evening, he found himself somewhat afraid of his own feelings.

He did what Claire had always told him to do: he pictured the rest of his life. Some of it was very clear. His son was there and his sister with her children. Surprisingly, Leon Kennedy was there (perhaps part of him thought the kid would end up with Claire someday). And as Chris pictured his wife…and she turned from the window she was looking out…he couldn't see her face.

It was blurry.

"Daddy," His son was pulling on his hand, drawing his attention away from the blurry woman. "Daddy look!"

And so, in his minds eye, Chris Redfield followed the direction of his sons hand.

One small finger was pointing outside. There, a tiny girl in a pink pinafore was spinning in circles in the sunlight. Her hair was dark and shiny in the brightness of the day, her laughter infectious. He knew, in his soul, this was his daughter.

"Daddy," Said his son, "Go pick her up!"

He walked from the house to the yard and bent down to pick up his daughter. She laughed, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. And then she opened them slowly to meet his and they were blue.

Chris stopped, froze. Sheva looked up at him.

"You alright?"

They had made there way across the ship deck and were even now preparing to cross into the inner bailey where Wesker had disappeared.

He met her dark eyes. Blue eyes his daughter had had. Blue. Did that mean Sheva, in his future, wasn't her mother? Was the woman in his minds eye Jill?

God she was so beautiful. There was no woman in the world that made his heart beat so fast just by looking at her. She was kind and strong and loyal. But she'd turned him aside, hadn't she? She didn't love him anymore. She didn't want him for anything more then physical pleasure. Right?

Was it wrong to consider the idea that she wasn't meant to be his after all? He'd come to Africa to find his best friend and then to win back Sheva Alomar. And now…now his best friend wanted to be his lover and Sheva Alomar, the mother of his son, didn't want him at all. And he just didn't know what to feel.

"Sheva…" He caught her hand, held it in his. "Do you want to be with Josh?"

Sheva knew this was a loaded question. She knew it was perhaps the most sensitive question he would ever asked her. She knew he was thinking of Jill, wondering about his own feelings.

So she was honest with him.

"No. He's my friend. And I love him as that. But it will never be more then that. No matter how much he wants it or how much of me thinks…it might be better for me if he was the one."

Was that it? Chris wondered. Was it only that part of him thought it would be safer, cleaner, better if Jill were the one? He and Sheva had such a rocky relationship. They had so much they'd have to work out to be together. Was even considering Jill just his bullshit way of taking the path of least resistance?

There was a smell that hit his nostrils as he opened his mouth to respond. The look on Sheva's face said she smelled it too.

It smelled like death.

They turned a corner and came face to face with a mountain of death. Bodies upon bodies piled one atop the next in a volcano of flesh and blood and disease. It was a dumping ground for the dead.

"Jesus." Sheva whispered and her hand tightened on his involuntarily.

Then, from behind the pile, Excella Gionne emerged. She was hunched over and moaning as she stumbled.

"Albert…why?! I was going to be with you in the new world!"

Albert Wesker's smooth drawl emerged from a loud speaker system around them. "Excella…darling. I'm afraid you've served your purpose for me. I want to thank you for your service and dedication. Consider this my last gift to you."

"Wesker!" Chris shouted, "Show yourself!"

Excella collapsed to her knees on the dirty pavement. Sheva had her gun half aimed at the woman. "How could he do this to her?"

Chris shook his head. "Wesker doesn't give a damn about anybody but himself."

Wesker's voice sighed over the intercom. "I grow bored trying to make you see my vision, Chris. Excella, my dear, it seems Uroboros has rejected you. I'll leave you to play with your new friends now. I have so many more important things to do."

The intercom clicked off.

Sheva's gun wavered. She didn't think she should shoot a woman in so much pain.

Chris stepped a little in front of her. He lifted his gun and fired, no thinking, no pity.

Something exploded out of Excella's mouth and the shot went wild, knocked away by waving tentacles.

They raced across the ground and Chris and Sheva were forced to leap aside as they started collecting dead bodies. It was like play dough from hell. They could do little more then gape in shock as Excella Gionne became…something else. Each dead body acquired by the monstrosity she had become had it growing larger, larger, the tentacles now as long and wide as a school bus and growing still.

"Run," Chris whispered, "RUN!"

Sheva ran, Chris a step behind. They ducked and spilled forward, narrowly missing a swipe of a tentacle as big as a semi.

Chris yanked her into his body and dove, another tentacle smashing into the side of the ship inches above where they'd just been running.

"Inside!" Sheva gestured and they rushed through the door into the inner captain's quarters of the ship.

She slammed the door behind them.

The ship rocked, hard, the tentacles smashing into the metal and sending the ship careening to one side. Chris stumbled, Sheva catching his arm to keep him from falling.

"God…what is that thing?"

"I don't know." Sheva replied, "But it'll rip this ship apart to get us. We better move."

They ran down the hallway, neither of them sure what they were going to do. How did you battle something that had grown as big as a small island?

A tentacle lanced down through the ship, spearing into the ground directly in front of them.

It caught Sheva against the shoulder and shoved her back against the wall. Chris grabbed her and drug her against his chest, ducking.

The tentacle waved around wildly above them.

"It's tearing the ship apart!" Sheva shouted above the screams of metal rending beneath the force of the tentacles.

Chris forced her into a run beside him. They leapt over bodies of dead majini, running full tilt toward the door leading to the deck.

Chris shot the mechanism keeping the door locked and pried open the doors, pushing Sheva into the hallway.

They rushed up the stairs to the deck and came face to face with a wall of windows showing what the world had become beyond.

The thing was suctioned around the bow of the ship, steadily taking over more and more of it. It was like a humongous octopus, its tentacles as tall as a sky scraper and nearly as wide.

"Jesus," Chris said, "It's going to devour this whole ship."

Sheva grabbed his arm. "Chris…look. Look here."

Scattered across the console of the captains multi-screen computer were some documents stained with dried blood.

Chris's eyes scanned them quickly as the ship rocked with another smashing blow from the thing beyond the window.

"A satellite targeting laser?"

Sheva nodded quickly. "We might have a chance against that thing after all. It's out on the deck. The code for the control box is written in dried blood on that document."

You see, readers, this was one of those moments where everything just comes together. Our hero and his estranged lady now had the means, given to them with a well placed document, in which to defeat the growing goliath that hunted them. This is what is often referred to in the literary world as: conflict resolution.

Chris ran for the side doors, dispatching a rather pathetic majini that stood guard there with a well placed round to the head.

"I'll try to distract the thing. You get the laser."

Sheva nodded.

They pushed out onto the deck. The air was cool and damp, water spraying in the air like from the blow hole of a whale. A storm was blowing in from the north, sending the waves around the boat into a mad frenzy in anticipation. The ship itself was half cocked from the weight of the thing attached to it and the floor was damp with the waves that crested over the railings and smashed against the steel beneath their feet.

Sheva raced for the satellite laser as Chris drew his shotgun and opened fire at the shiny red bulbs that were waving wildly atop the monsters many tentacles. They looked a bit like buds on a rose bush.

The monster spewed, regurgitating nasty piles of black puke onto the deck around them. The puke rose up, like possessed silly putty, and started leaping.

Chris found himself fighting for his life.

He'd duck a tentacle only to be leapt upon by a pile of puke. It hit his back and slammed him into the deck on his hands and knees. He batted it off him and ducked another jumping pile of it, rolling along the deck.

A tentacle smashed into him, full force, right into his face.

He was lifted up, tossed negligently into the air, and came barreling down with a crash against the steel. Pain raced through his body, he gasped for air and rolled out of instinct as another limb slapped the ground where he'd fallen. He didn't think anything was broken but he could be sure.

Chris fired again, over and over, ducking and kicking the piles of puke when they came squishing over to him. He fired into them, fired into the creature.

Finally, he heard Sheva shout from high above him on the upper deck. "Chris! It's ready! Get back!"

He turned and started running for the ladder to the upper deck. A tentacle smashed into his back at the same time a loud WHOMP sound hit his ears. Light exploded around him and the air sizzled with heat.

Chris smashed into the wall, tried to take the impact off his face with his arms, conked his head good against the steel and hit the ground. There was no thought this time, he was out like a light.

Unsure of how long he'd been out, he came to with silence around him save for Sheva coaxing him awake.

Pieces of tentacles lay scattered around the deck, still and grotesque. The piles of puke were nothing more then puddles now.

His head was cradled in Sheva's lap, her hand stroking his cheek. "Scared me." She said quietly. "You'll never know how I felt up there, watching that thing toss you. And then you fell…and you didn't move."

Chris met her eyes for a long moment. He felt okay really. He could have stood up if he wanted to. But he didn't really want to at all.

"Sheva," He whispered quietly, "Our son…tell me about our son."

A smile so beautiful it hurt him bloomed across her face.

"He's mouthy. He blabbers all the time. Nonsense baby talk that makes me smile. He's already trying to roll over too so he's strong. Like his daddy. He smiles a lot and he's got your dimples."

He had dimples? Chris never realized.

"…and the most beautiful blue eyes."

"What?" Chris asked, hearing the end of her comments. "What?"

"He's got blue eyes." Sheva said with a smile. "They say that's normal for a little baby to have blue eyes. But I think they'll stay blue. My mother was blue eyed."

His daughter..she'd had blue eyes. Sheva had a blue eyed gene. Maybe…maybe the woman in his dreams had been her all along.

"Chris," Sheva stroked his face. "I lied to you."

He lifted his eyebrows.

'I told you I didn't love you anymore. I lied. I lied to you. I've never loved anyone else. Josh…he never had a chance. I know…I know you're confused about Jill. I understand. I'm willing…I'm…I'm going to wait. I'll wait. For you to decide. If you still want me…I'll wait for you."

In that moment, Chris had never been less confused. "Sheva…" He pulled her down and kissed her.

There was no confusion here. No wonder. No surprise. His heart hurt and healed kissing her. He loved her. And he didn't have to think about that.

Whatever he felt for Jill. He knew how he felt for Sheva.

He knew it would hurt Jill to hear it. He knew that under different circumstances, there might have been a chance for them. But Sheva filled up the holes his parents death had left. Sheva took away the pain of his past. He hadn't mourned Jill like a lover. He'd mourned her like family, like he'd mourned his parents. And though part of him might have always wondered what it would be like to be more then that, it would never be enough to make him forget the woman in his arms.

Sheva had saved him. Saved his life. Saved his soul. She'd reached into his darkness and given him something to live for.

As much as Jill loved him. As much as part of him knew Jill was the safer choice…he knew he'd never choose her. He couldn't. His heart had already chosen for him.

The kiss was soft, gentle.

"Chris…"Sheva pressed her forehead to his and held. It was like that moment so long ago in Gisan. That connection that was deeper then sex, deeper then love.

When they drew apart, Chris gained his feet. Sheva kept an arm around him until he was steady.

"Let's finish this," He cupped her face in his hands, "And go home to our son."

Sheva smiled beautifully at him. "What about Jill?"

Chris sighed. "I think she knew. I think she always knew it was you. Remember Leon's pool party? She's the one who convinced me to go. She knew you'd be there. She was setting me up. If she really wanted me for her self, do you think she would have done that? She basically fixed us up. I think deep down she's going to realize that I'm not it for her."

"And you're positive she's not it for you either?"

He met her eyes. "You're it for me. You were it the moment we met. I'm just a moron who takes forever to figure things out."

Sheva laughed as they entered the captain's deck.

One of the monitors showed them a hanger on the subdeck. There was a fighter jet there and Wesker was wandering around it.

Chris's communicator buzzed and he pulled it free. Jill's face appeared on screen.

"Chris." She was all business. "Wesker has to take a serum to maintain his strength. It's a very precise dosage. Taking too much…"

"…would act like a poison." Chris finished her sentence. They were always doing that kind of thing. Another reason romance wouldn't work with them. Jill was the female version of him.

"Exactly. Excella always carried his serum in attaché case. I think it was labeled PG…" The communicator buzzed, the screen wavered. And Jill's signal was lost.

"Jill? Damnit. PG what?"

Sheva held up an epi pen that they'd scored from Excella some time before. "I think she means this."

Chris nodded. "Better then nothing. What have we got to lose?"

They moved into the elevator, hit the button for the subdeck and the hanger.

"He's going to use the jet to spill Uroboros all over the world."

"Oh my god." Sheva whispered. "…he's made it so…"

"He can't get shot down. If he does…it'll initiate a Biohazard (copyright Capcom)"

Sheva gasped as the doors opened.

And Albert Wesker stood facing them.

"Wesker!" Chris fired before he thought better of it.

Wesker flashed left, right, knocked the gun from his hand and back handed Sheva. She reeled, came back up with her right hand. Wesker kicked Chris in the stomach and knocked him into the railing. He grabbed Sheva, twisted her arm up behind her back and pulled against him.

"Wesker! It's over!" Chris stumbled to his feet. "I'm not going to let you do this."

"Chris, you fool. Humanity is on its last legs. A self terminating ridiculous excuse for a breed of life form. I'm not killing humanity, I'm saving it."

He tossed Sheva toward Chris. Chris caught her and Wesker kicked him, Sheva raised her gun and Wesker caught her wrist twisting. He twisted their arms together like a pretzel and tossed them both over the railing.

They fell, Sheva landing on her back, Chris on his front with a grunt.

Wesker climbed atop the railing.

Sheva pulled the epi pen out and looked at Chris.

"Let's do this." Chris remarked and Albert Wesker leapt to the ground in front of them.

'


	17. Chapter 17

_So here I will tell you that I won't go into any more details of 5. For those of us that have played it, we know what happens. For those of us that haven't, I won't spoil it. We shall resume our tale post 5. After the helicopter(semi spoiler) has seen our heroes to safety and the day is saved. Evil is defeated and good prevails._

_We shall discover life outside of action. _

_And hopefully I'll end the story on a happy note. _

_In other news, I've been brewing another idea around in my head. A different tale of romance not connected to BSAA in any fashion. Another triangle of sorts I concocted upon watching Degeneration this morning. Starring a few of our favorites. I'll be posting it in conjunction with the Linear Compound as my two current works of the moment._

_Give it a gander when I get it up and tell me what you think. It won't be action. It'll be mostly a love story._

_But let's see what our heroes are up to, shall we?_

**Chapter 17: An End without End Amen.**

**Name: Christopher Duncan Redfield**

**Age: 36 (or so)**

**Height: Tall**

**Weight: Undisclosed **

**Occupation: Nervous New Daddy**

Two weeks ago, Chris Redfield knew what his purpose in life was. It was to find, to kill, to ELIMINATE Albert Wesker.

Today…he had a new one.

Today he was about to embark upon the greatest journey of his life. Today he would meet his son.

Claire was laughing gently at him as they stood on the porch of his new house.

Upon returning from Africa, Chris Redfield had vacated his bachelor pad and bought a cute three bedroom ranch house four houses down from Leon Kennedy. That's right. He'd moved to the burbs.

He'd felt it was appropriate, seeing as he was a Daddy now and needed to have an environment suitable for children. Jill and he had squared away their awkwardness.

To both his surprise and Sheva's, Jill and Josh had bonded over their time together on the helicopter while he and Sheva had fought for their lives in the fires of hell.

She admitted part of her fashioned herself in love with him because of their experiences together. And though part of her would miss what could have been, she knew he had made the right decision. She'd known then that she and he were never meant to be. But her time with Wesker had convinced her that she needed to clarify her feelings at least in order to move on.

She and Josh were currently taking things slow.

Sheva and Chris had parted company to be debriefed. She'd gone back to her villa in Tuscany to get their son.

Both of them were still trying to figure out where their relationship was going. But Chris figured they'd find their way eventually.

She was on her way to his house now to introduce him to Gabriel.

He'd never been more nervous in his life.

Claire touched his arm gently. "Listen, bro, relax. He's all of what…sixteen weeks? He's not going to bite."

Chris gave her a dirty look. "I'm not good with babies. I've never even really held one. What if he senses that? What if he thinks I don't like him?"

Claire laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But really? He's an infant Christopher, not a bomb. He won't blow up, I promise."

Sheva's car angled into the driveway and Chris watched her kill the engine.

She stepped out into the sunlight and she was…breath taking. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she wore a summer dress in buttery yellow with silver sandals.

She had on narrow white sunglasses perched precariously atop her slender nose.

Sheva waved at them before she moved around to the back left side of the car.

Claire bumped his elbow with hers. "Go on, Daddy. Go get your son."

God. Daddy. _Daddy. _He felt his palms get sweaty as he walked down the driveway.

He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. His orange flip flops flapped on the concrete as he moved.

Sheva noticed the shirt was a little tight around his arms. She wondered if he owned a shirt that wasn't. The site of all that white on his sun darkened muscles made her belly flutter and clench. She wondered, as well, if the sight of him would always make her feel about twelve years old.

She hadn't seen him in a few weeks, though they'd talked every night. She hadn't known how she'd react to seeing him again. She wasn't surprised she was a little nervous.

"Hi," She greeted with a smile, "You look-"

Chris dragged her against him and kissed her. Her belly plummeted right out her butt. She went onto her tip toes and let him have it.

He drew back after a long, wet, breath stealing exchange. "Missed you."

That was probably the most wonderful thing she'd ever heard. She grinned, cupped his stubbly cheek. "Missed you too. You ready for this?"

Her heart fluttered at the nervousness on his face. It made her feel warm and mooshy inside.

"You wanna…or…" He gestured.

Sheva smiled wider. "You can get him out of his seat."

"You sure? I don't wanna…you know…break him…or…"

Chris Redfield was a lot of things. He was arrogant. He was sexier then hell. He was infuriatingly cocky, self assured, loyal to a fault and chivalrous. But in that moment, in the sunlit afternoon, he was also ADORABLE.

Sheva brushed her hand over his arm. "Relax sweetheart. Just breathe."

He took a deep breath and nodded. He hadn't been this nervous eleven years ago in Raccoon City when he'd first stepped foot in that fucking mansion. It wasn't hordes of the undead, it was just a BABY.

Chris opened the back door and stuck his head and shoulders in.

The rear facing seat was green with blue patchwork. The little monster in question was dressed in a tiny BSAA uniform.

Chris had figured he'd just pick up the baby and be okay. After all, babies slept in cars right? So the baby would be asleep.

But the baby was awake.

He had a crop of dark hair, sticking off his head wildly like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He was chubby and TINY.

Big blue eyes met big blue eyes and held.

"Hi." Chris said quietly. "I'm Chris. I'm…your Dad."

The baby gurgled, sucking on its fist.

"I'm kind of …new to this. So you'll have to bear with me. I'm probably going to fuck up a lot." Chris winced. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say fuck. I'll work on that. But…I don't know much about being a Dad. I mean…I had a good one. A great one really. But I never really thought I'd be one, ya know? So I'm gonna try really hard to be like mine was."

The baby gurgled again.

"That's okay. You don't have to answer. I figure you're gonna have to get used to me right?" Chris touched a finger to one tiny foot encased in a brown sandals. "You're kinda puny. But we'll work on that. I promise I'll teach you how to be a bad ass like me."

Chris winced again. "Sorry about the ass thing. I'm kinda pissing in the wind here. But what do you think? You wanna stick it out with me?"

The baby pulled his fist out of his mouth. He stared at Chris for a long moment. Chris felt like he was under interrogation by the CIA for war crimes against the country. He felt sweat slide down his spine. The baby seemed to be considering him.

"You pooping or something?" Chris asked and was kind of alarmed at the idea. "You want me to get your Mom?"

And then it happened. The moment that changed his life forever. So simple. So fast.

The baby smiled at him. He opened his toothless mouth, flashed his gums and grinned.

Chris knew he had never ever ever in his whole life loved someone more. It arrowed into his chest and almost hurt. How was it possible to love someone so much you'd just met?

Chris reached out and worked the complicated contraction holding the baby securely in his seat. Gently, he drew him out of the car and tucked him into his arm.

The baby stared up at him with wonder.

"I know, kiddo. You're a runt. But we'll fix that."

And then the baby laughed. It was the sweetest sound in the world. A wet little belly gurgle followed by a big belch.

Chris laughed out loud. "You ARE my son!"

Sheva chuckled, tears in her eyes. "What do you think?"

Chris met her eyes above the squirming baby. "I think he's a keeper."

After about an hour, Claire was finally able to steal the baby away from him for quality "Auntie" time. She disappeared out into the yard while Chris and Sheva sat on the back porch.

Sheva was sitting on his lap like he was Santa Claus with her arm around his neck and shoulders.

"I sold my place in Tuscany." She said, gently brushing her fingers through the fine hair at the nape of his neck.

Chris was stroking slow circles over her back. He said nothing.

"I'm looking at places here. I think you and Gabriel should be close to each other. And obviously I want to be closer to you."

She looked down at him. He met her eyes.

"There's an apartment for rent over on Dumont. It's a two bedroom. It's a nice building. A lot of young families. And this way we'd only be a couple of blocks away."

Chris shook his head. "No. That's not gonna work."

Sheva stiffened a little. "Is it too fast? I'm not trying to rush things. I can look closer to the city if you want."

"No. A couple of blocks is too far. I want you to live here, with me."

Sheva drew her sunglasses up and Chris copied her, giving her very serious eyes.

"Chris…you're enamored of him. You love your son. But don't invite us to live here because you can't stand to be away from him."

Chris slid his free hand onto her leg, slipped two fingers up the inside of her thigh. She quivered, tightening her hand on his shoulder.

"It's not just him, Sheva. I can't stand to be away from you either." He brushed his fingers over the smooth satin of her panties and she couldn't help but press against the touch with her body. "I want to wake up beside you. Hell…I want to wake up INSIDE you."

Her body tightened at the image.

"We don't have to live together for that." She whispered as he traced his finger over the edge of her panties and snaked it around the material to slide closer to the apex of her body. She was already damp for him.

"Claire?" He called evenly. "Can you take Gabe inside for a little bit? Sheva and I have something to…discuss."

Claire lifted her brows, glanced between them, and smiled. "Suuuure. You look hungry, little dude. How bout Aunt Claire feeds you. So Daddy and Mommy can…talk."

Claire passed by with the baby, sliding open the back door and disappearing inside to get him a bottle.

The moment the door slid shut, Chris shifted her, pulling her around to straddle his lap. Sheva ground her body against him.

He slid his hands up her outer thighs and cupped her ass, pressing against her.

She made a sound in her throat.

"Sheva…what's Gabriel's last name?" He slipped his hands inside her panties and over her bare skin.

She quivered and pushed her fingers under his shirt to touch his belly. "What?" The topic didn't make sense to her at this moment.

"Is it Alomar, Sheva? Is it?"

She drew back enough to see his face. He was flush with excitement but there was such a serious look in his eyes that she paused in her fondling of him.

"No." She answered finally. "It's Redfield. Gabriel Redfield."

His hands tightened on her ass, grinding her against the hardness of his body. She moaned a little.

"You didn't know if you'd ever see me again. You didn't know that I wasn't a complete douche bag who'd cut you out of my life and be done with it. But you gave him my name anyway. Why?"

She gasped as he slid his hand around and palmed the dampness of her. "Oh god…because I love you. Because I love you."

And that love humbled him.

He brushed his finger over the wetness of her. "I'm not asking you to live with me, Sheva."

She froze and then shivered when he slipped his hand down and freed himself from his shorts.

Sheva gasped. "Chris…your sister is-"

He pushed her panties to the side and slid into her in a single move. She jerked, gasped, and dug her fingers into his shoulders. "Oh god…"

Chris held her there, impaled on him. And he thought he'd never felt more ALIVE.

"I don't want to live with you, Sheva Alomar." He lifted her, brought her down on him almost roughly. She groaned, clutching desperately at him. "I want to marry you."

The pleasure in her body nearly blocked out the words. He lifted her, brought her down on him again. She tightened her thighs over him to try to stop the wonderful assault.

"You…you what?"

He lifted her, thrust into her again. "I want to marry you. I want you here, like this. Every day. I want to have more children with you. I want to marry you."

"Oh god…Chris….I…." He lifted her again, brought her down. Lifted her, brought her down. She grabbed his face and joined him, using her body to rise and fall. Using her body to milk him.

"Say yes," He gasped and knew he was close. She was shaking like leaf atop him. She was close as well. "Say yes, Sheva. I love you. Say yes."

"Yes," She gasped, "Yes. Yes. Yes."

And they stopped talking. She rode him, wet and wanting. He thrust into her. In the sunlight, they forgot everything but the feel, the taste, the touch of each other.

It was fast and facile. And when he was close, he started to lift her off him but she clenched her thighs around him.

"More children right?" She gasped at the brush of his fingers over her most sensitive place. "You're not getting any younger."

He laughed, dark and dirty, wrapped his hands into her hair and let her take over. She milked him, slapping up and down on him like a beautiful, exotic, sexual storm.

They groaned, gasped, and he stroked her with his fingers, heightening her body to the point of nearly pain. She came, screaming her pleasure into his neck to muffle the sound. He gripped her hips and thrust into her until there was nothing between them but a thought and spilled himself in her body.

She wrapped her arms around him after the storm had passed and held on.

Chris thrust his tongue over the soft cushion of her breasts, tasting the saltiness of her skin.

Sheva shivered.

"I'll make you happy, Sheva. I swear it."

Sheva leaned back, cupped his face and turned it up to hers. She met his eyes and answered. "You already do."

…….

_Closing note: So that's our story. I enjoyed it. I loved it. I look forward to exploring the other side of the things. Our favorite pair will return in a different kind of tale. I'm thinking of love triangle (not with Jill) the idea was bred in me but my fabulous reviewers. Don't be sad that the story is over. I promise I've got ideas just as wonderful waiting to keep you entertained._

_Thank you all again for your continued loyalty. I wouldn't be half the writer I am without you!!!_

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